Come Away with Me
by HarryLurvsMarsBars
Summary: "In this moment I don't want my cuts and bruises, my mother or Gale or even Sae. I just want Peeta. And if there's one thing about the old Katniss that I hope sticks around, it's that when old Katniss wanted something, she did everything in her power to get it." Takes place after Mockingjay. 'M' rating will apply in a couple of chapters for sexy stuff.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**: So this is my first Hunger Games fic and honestly I'm a little nervous about venturing into this; I think it can be very easy to get very OOC with the characters, and in my writing I always try to stay as in-character as possible. Though I had heard of them I admittedly never read the books until I heard they were making the movie (which was awesome), and when I finally did read them (in three days) I got a bit obsessed. This was originally an epically long story, but it was bordering on 10,000 words and I realized I still had more, so it's now a multi-chap; M rating will come later. As always reviews are very much wanted and appreciated :)

P.S. I don't own Hunger Games or the song Come Away with Me

...

_Come away with me in the night,  
Come away with me  
And I will write you a song,  
Come away with me on a bus,  
Come away where they can't tempt us  
With their lies,  
And I want to walk with you  
On a cloudy day,  
In fields where the yellow grass grows knee-high,  
So won't you try to come?  
Come away with me and we'll kiss  
On a mountaintop,  
Come away with me  
And I'll never stop loving you,  
And I want to wake up with the rain  
Falling on a tin roof,  
While I'm safe there in your arms,  
So all I ask is for you  
To come away with me in the night,  
Come away with me._

_-Come Away with Me, Norah Jones_

…

The morning I wake relatively calmly is about a week after Peeta returns, a week after he planted the primroses in my yard. I would be lying if I said my sleep was as gentle as my awakening, however. If anything, it's worse. The nightmares were still the same, almost tactile in their vividness; children burning in a scorching heat, screaming pleas at me as their skin melts off the bones of their bodies while I do not, cannot, do anything to help, and Snow smiling languidly from the front steps of his house as drops of blood leak sickeningly from the corner of his mouth. Just as I am certain my brain can't torture itself any more, Peeta comes charging out of the flames, his cerulean eyes now blood-red as his big hands clutch my throat and he hisses with a disturbingly innocent, feminine voice that I will always remember as _hers_,"You left me, Katniss. And now I'm gone, forever. I want to see you again. Peeta's only helping you come back to me…"

My eyes shoot open, as if they can't take the performance put on by my subconscious any longer. I take deep breaths as best I can to calm myself, and that is the moment I realize that my sheets, though thrown at the foot of the bed, are not in a tangled mess around me, and I don't have bruises on my arms from hitting the headboard. I can't stop my mind from replaying probably the worst nightmare I've had in a long time, which is saying something. It's as if it started out like a typical one, but that I was too entranced at hearing her voice again to scream, to kick and pound until I have no energy to live by the time I wake. Coupled with the bizarreness of hearing her come out of Peeta's mouth while he strangled the life out of me, I'm sure this was more than enough to keep me from fighting imaginary attackers.

Part of me wants to blame this on Peeta. I was fine to suffocate in the darkness of my house, to eat only when I felt it necessary and to mourn everyone I had lost both literally and figuratively, which even often included him. But here he shows up in Twelve, half of his old self, planting my dead sister's namesake flowers outside my window and giving me nothing else. Was he really giving me anything at all other than grief and a new kind of psychological torment?

I want my bruises and cuts back. They're all I deserve, matching the rest of my disgusting skin that blisters and peels as it attempts to heal itself after being burned in the fire. Peeta – I'm just sure it's him, his presence that has made this happen – has taken away the only part of my life that makes me _feel_, to experience anything other than depression and utter loneliness. I don't even hurt for me anymore. My heart simply aches for those whom I miss so, so much, that I will never see again and just want to wrap my arms around in a big hug, to tell them thank you and that I love them. At least the purple splotches that dotted my arms gave me something to let me know that my outer shell still existed and could still experience sensitivity, and not just my innermost demons.

It's unfair for me to think like that; I _shouldn't_ think like that. In actuality Peeta himself has done nothing wrong, and aside from Greasy Sae and the rarely sober Haymitch, he's all I have left. Peeta's current mental state is exactly his worst fear that he expressed to me in the apartment the night before the first Games merely a year ago. The Capitol did this to him. The Capitol took everything from me: my family, my friends, my sanity… _my_ Peeta. The Peeta that loved me when I had no right to be loved, unconditionally even, and who was always by my side, always there to offer the comfort of his arms whenever I needed it.

Another realization hits me as I lay there with my tormented, over-processed thoughts. Is _my_ current mental state not partially what the Capitol intended for me? I'm practically a vegetable; for me, getting out of bed means a better day than normal. I have no 'good' days anymore; there's only 'horrible' or 'bad'.

The urge comes from practically nowhere. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and cringe a bit when my feet touch the cold wooden floor. My legs, once taught and toned but now mostly skin and bone, carry me to the ensuite bathroom and my skeletal arm reaches in the shower to turn on the water and adjust it to the perfect temperature. I shed my disgusting nightshirt and step into the steaming water, instantly feeling some kind of relief in my shoulders. I haven't been in here in a while. It's just been too tempting to lock myself away and drown in the hot spray.

As the sweet-smelling shampoo lathers in my scraggly, burnt hair, I decide that this shell of a person I am now has to go. My non-living is exactly what the Capitol worked for, and I made a promise to more than myself to not be a ploy in any of their games. I watch the soap sink into the drain and a few large flakes of skin mix in with the suds. After only hesitating a moment, I grab the medicated body wash that the doctor gave me for my skin for the first time. It tingles and stings but the sensation is welcomed.

When I step out of the shower after a deep conditioning treatment in my hair and a few more minutes under the warm water, I almost feel… invigorated. Like my old self again. It's a fleeting experience. While I feel I have made leaps and bounds in a mere twenty minutes, it will take much more time for me to even come close to my old self, if that's even possible. Do I _want_ to be my old self? As I step in front of the fogged mirror, the girl staring back at me that is scarred and damaged is certainly not the girl on fire, nor is she the Katniss whose life revolved around keeping her family alive. My solution to the question for now is to put faith in the old saying "time will tell".

I step away from the mirror, and keeping up with the morning's theme of following the doctor's orders, apply some of the ointment to my burn scars and peeling skin. It smells like mint and honey, almost like one of my mother's homemade herbal remedies, but the underlying stench of medicine is also present. It cools and soothes my pink skin, however, so I apply more all over my body.

As soon as I open the door that leads to my room in my quest to find some clean clothes, the utter stink in my room makes my face scrunch up in disgust. Was I really living in this? Fighting not to gag, I change into a pair of comfortable, lazy gray sweatpants and a loose-fitting long sleeve shirt, and fling open the window as soon as I'm decent. It will take a while for this smell to get out, but the least I can do is take the sheets off my bed, which smell as though they've existed in Haymitch's basement for years.

I yank them and my pillowcases off the bed and, not wanting to get my clean clothes smelly, toss them to the bottom of the stairs. To my shock a woman appears out of nowhere and grabs them before I can say a word. She looks up at me and smiles genuinely. "Hello, Katniss."

Sae disappears around the corner and I fist my hands in anger. I wanted to do this on my own. This was the start of my recovery. I cleaned myself, and now I want to clean my things. My argument sounds juvenile even in my own head, but after so many weeks, months, however long it's been, of doing nothing for myself, my old independent streak has reared its head once again.

I stalk down the stairs and out the door to my backyard, where Sae is hunched over a metal tub not unlike what I used to bathe in, soaking the fabric in the soapy water.

"I want to do it." My voice is cracked and rough from being used only to scream for so long. When she turns around with surprised eyes I realize I've been rather rude. "Thank you, Sae, but I can do it. I need to."

She hesitates a moment as if she's still too shocked at my active presence to do anything, but nods and rises to her feet. "Ok, Katniss. I need to make lunch, anyways. Will you eat if I prepare something?"

My initial reaction is to deny the offer. _Why should you eat if so many can't any longer_, my brain asks my stomach. But then I remember that all those people wouldn't want me to waste my own life away, and that that is exactly what the Capitol would have wanted. With this thought I finally nod and turn to the tub of water.

The physical work of scrubbing the pieces of fabric individually and diligently is a surprisingly satisfying task. Old Katniss would have hated doing it, would have found it unnecessary and a waste of time when there was food to be caught in the woods, or the Katniss in Thirteen would have written it off as another pointless chore meant only for busy work. This Katniss is happy to simply have anything to do at all that _almost_ takes her mind off Prim. I doubt she will ever be gone from my head. In a twisted way I cherish that. She will never be forgotten to me, but in return I must deal with the agony of seeing her face every day in my mind's eye, hear her voice randomly even though I'm completely alone, see her burn in my dreams…

I don't realize I'm crying until I taste the salt in my mouth. I repress deep sobs that threaten to consume me as they did in the beginning, and as I hang up the last pillowcase on the line, I collapse into the surprisingly soft grass and allow the late spring sun to swathe my face in a blanket of outer warmth; it fails to completely reach my insides. I'm simply too sad and I miss Prim too much for the sun, a symbol of hope and prosperity, to comfort me just yet.

Peeta is like the sun, I think. He's large and bright; hard and soft at the same time; beautiful and calming, dependable and routine. He comforts me like no one has ever been able to before, except for my father, maybe. He never fails to be there for me, even at my worst. I feel more tears stream down my cheeks as I think of what he must go through with the hijacking episodes, how he turns from my sun to literally my worst nightmare at the flip of an unexplainable switch.

My sobs cease to the occasional sniffle when I realize that if I keep making progress, I might actually be able to face Peeta, to get to know him again, to simply be in his presence and _enjoy_ it. It's this that drives me to sit up and attempt to wipe off my sun-dried tears with pruned fingers as I enter the house again.

I'm sure there's no doubt that I've been bawling when I enter the kitchen, where Greasy Sae is calmly ladling some kind of red-orange broth into a couple of bowls. Apparently I'll have company for my first actual meal in no telling how long. Sure enough she places one bowl in front of me and the other at the setting for the chair next to mine. Though I'm sure she notices, I'm embarrassed and try my best to avoid eye contact, and she knows me well enough even after all this that it's best for her not to say anything.

I feed myself a spoonful of the soup and am surprised that it actually has some kind of flavor. Until today food has been bland and tasteless to me, which only contributed to my lack of appetite. Today, though, I taste tomato and celery and carrots and some kind of spice my inexperienced pallet doesn't recognize. Whatever it is, it's good, and I take another spoonful.

I hear the scraping of china on the wooden table. "I forgot. Peeta brought me some bread earlier."

I lift my eyes enough to look at the bread, and I almost start crying again. The bread is simple, one that we had often when we could afford it. It was a white bread, baked with all kinds of tiny seeds that gave the soft middle a wonderful and satisfying crunch, just like the golden crust. I shakily reach for it and tear myself a piece from the middle. I bring it to my nose and inhale before taking a nibble of it. It smells like him, and though it's not warm it's almost just as comforting as warm bread simply because it _smells_ of him, and the taste brings a wave of nostalgia that is hard to shake.

My eyes water involuntarily and I close them, willing the tears away. I don't want to cry. I want to get past crying. I realize what I want, more than anything, is Peeta.

When I open my eyes I see Sae watching me, and for the first time ever I see that she is about to cry as well. "Thank you, Sae, for everything," I whisper gratefully. It's all I can manage right now.

Sae nods and without warning leans forward and embraces me. I startle immediately. This is the first skin-to-skin contact I've had with anyone in a long time, and it's become a foreign experience. She leans back and pats my shoulder comfortingly before taking my bowl from me. I know she wants me to eat it, but I just can't right now. I have too much on my mind. I save the bread, though. I carry it to the living room and am surprised to find the couch fixed into a makeshift bed; Sae undoubtedly went into my room and discovered the smell.

I collapse onto the plush cushions and lay my head on a fresh pillow, inhaling the clean scents of sun-dried linens and the piece of bread that I clutch in my hand. Greasy Sae comes in a moment later and covers me with a blanket. Exhaustion overtakes me, but I find myself terrified to go to sleep. To my great frustration tears well in my eyes again and I make a choking noise as she begins to leave. I try to explain that my nightmares are too horrible to deal with just for the sake of rest, but she just shushes me and strokes my hair, which I only barely find comforting.

In this moment I don't want my cuts and bruises, my mother or Gale or even Sae. I just want Peeta. And if there's one thing about the old Katniss that I hope sticks around, it's that when old Katniss wanted something, she did everything in her power to get it.

…

**A/N**: Norah Jones is awesome she has some amazing songs, the one way above being the inspiration for this story. And I already have a couple more chapters, so more reviews make me want to post more chapters faster!


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N**: Hmm well I was hoping I would get more reviews but 20 follows in 24 hours isn't bad either. Much thanks to **dadadidi**, **Tori Bradley**, **clemintine26**, and **Pattybuns** for the awesome inspiring reviews. Follow their lead people, please!

…

A week passes before I feel that I'm ready to face the outside world. I now shower every day, slowly getting used to the routine again, just like Dr. Aurelius said. When I emerge from the bathroom to find clothes in my now normal-scented room, I begin the process of mentally preparing myself for how much the rest of the citizens of Twelve have moved on without me, without _her_.

I pull open a drawer and stare at the contents. Normal people wear actual fitted pants rather than the slouchy sweats that I've taken a liking to as of late and that practically swallow me whole. Normal people will also at least be wearing at least short-sleeve shirts to accommodate the late Spring warmth. I just can't bring myself to let the world see all of my scars yet, though, so I slip a burgundy long-sleeved t-shirt over my head. There's nothing I can do about the few that dot my face and hands, but no one needs to discover the huge flakes of skin that peel away from my flesh, though they are much better now that I've been using my wash and ointment regularly.

I fix my hair, which has grown just past my shoulders (albeit unevenly), into a simple low side braid, slide on a pair of soft socks and over those my comfy, worn-in hunting boots. I pass Sae on my way out the door and tell her I'm going for a walk before she can question me at all.

When I step outside my front door for the first time in what feels like forever I suddenly realize I have no idea where to go. Practically everything was destroyed by the bombs, including the roads and pathways, but getting lost is not my problem. I'm torn between the woods and the town center; I even fleetingly think of my house at the Seam but I dismiss the idea as quickly as it came to my brain. I'm not even close to ready to face that.

I choose town. The woods can wait for another day, and honestly I'm genuinely curious about how far the reconstruction has come. I take a deep breath and step off my front porch with a bit of hesitance, another thought gnawing at the back of my mind. I know that more than likely Peeta will be there helping, and I feel like today is the day I want to see him. More accurately, not only do I really want to see Peeta, I'm pretty sure I can handle seeing him without completely breaking down for the multitude of reasons that haunt me every moment of the day. Maybe interacting with him will help.

My feet carry me towards the town almost like they have a mind of their own, stopping without my complete realization when something small and yellow catches my eye: a dandelion. I stoop to pick it and twirl the stem in between my fingers, watching it spin in a golden blur. No matter what happens to me in my life I doubt I will ever forget the symbolism of dandelions to me, and how synonymous they are with my and Peeta's relationship. They have two separate identities, pretty and simple and happy first, until something goes wrong and they become fragile gray things that are knocked over by the slightest rush of air.

I close my eyes and sigh, placing the flower to my lips and imagine that the softness of it matches Peeta's lips. I miss his touch, I realize not for the first time in the past few days. Opening my eyes, I keep walking. For now, I will be happy if I just get to see him. I seem to forget that I have time now, and ample amounts of it. We don't have to and truthfully _cannot_ rush things with us. I know he doesn't completely hate me anymore, or I doubt the doctors or Plutarch would have let him come back to Twelve at all, much less on his own. But there has to be some level of dislike or he would have made more of an effort to see me. _Maybe not, _I think, remembering the stink in my room and scrunch my nose as I recall the sour, dirty smell.

I suddenly realize that I've finally reached the old square, and I recognize nothing. Everything that used to be here is gone, and tall wooden frames of new structures scatter across the area. All the merchants who survived seem to be building near the spots where their old businesses used to be, and I look around for the one I'm most interested in; I see the butcher, the clothier, the grocery market owner, and, finally, the baker.

Like the others, the bakery's structure is being built almost exactly where Peeta's old home used to be. I can't picture what it will look like when it's completed, whether it will be identical, similar, or completely different from the bakery he grew up in. I don't see Peeta either, though. Our population is minimal at best, so there aren't too many workers, but as I look around I see a group of shirtless young men chopping wood in the city square. I envy them. It's getting more than a bit stifling in my long sleeves, but I refuse the alternative.

Their backs face me so I check for a pair of broad shoulders and a head of golden curls. Surprisingly a few of them appear fairly strong and chiseled, judging by their wide shoulders, tapered waists, and the ripples of the muscles in their backs as they raise and lower the axe. I assume they are from other, more fortunate districts.

Even more surprising is to discover that one of those muscled boys – _men_ – is actually Peeta. I spot his cropped head of blonde curls and take the opportunity to examine him for the first time in months. He has obviously been more diligent about his healing skin care regimen than I have, because even his most prominent scars, though still visible, are now fading into his newly tanned skin.

When he turns, a large pile of chopped wood in his strong arms, my breath catches in my throat. Either in my depressed haze I had significantly downplayed Peeta's looks, or he has somehow become even more handsome than I remember. It's as if his body suddenly decided to become a man's, and that a boyish face just didn't mix with the ridges and valleys of his chiseled torso. His jaw is more defined, and a visible layer of blonde hair that he always used to make a point to shave off before he left his bedroom in the morning now dusts the lower half of his face, and even his chest. Sweat drips off the fringe of his curls and into his eyebrows, which practically just _forces_ me to admire his sky-blue eyes.

He is beautiful, and I am not.

I'm not sure if it's my current haphazard emotional state or simply my inner femininity that I had thought disappeared long ago that makes me suddenly _really_ _want_ to be beautiful; I would even settle for pretty or cute, so I could come even just a tiny bit close to being good enough for him in some way. But I'm neither, so that thought quickly passes through one part of my brain and out the other. Instead it concentrates on the way his biceps curl as he hauls another armful of wood to his wheelbarrow and how his worn-in jeans hang low on his hips. I purse my lips together to hold in the sigh I'm suddenly fighting not to release, and if the stirring I feel in my belly is any indication, that inner femininity isn't really gone after all.

When Peeta returns to his pile for the few pieces he has left, he spots a boy that I can only assume is about fifteen or so and more than likely not from Twelve originally. He looks healthy enough, but between the heat and repeatedly swinging the heavy axe, he is apparently exhausted, sitting on the dry ground and watching the stronger men swiftly cutting the stocky logs. Peeta asks if he needs help with anything, and from what I can barely hear of their conversation, he says his father sent him to gather more wood for the construction of their new house. Taking note of his wiry and sweat-drenched body, Peeta hands him the rest of his wood. The kid refuses at first, but Peeta shoves them into his scrawny arms anyways and tells him that it's really okay.

My knees go weak in a way that no amount of muscles or chiseled jaw bones could make them. The gesture was so _Peeta_, and it's what I was desperately hoping to see on my little venture out here today, though I didn't really know it was what I needed until this moment.

This is the moment I truly realize I love him.

He walks back to his wheelbarrow and pushes it through the small crowd to where the basic wooden framework of his new bakery is now standing. His is one of the few that have really progressed to this stage yet, however, so he must have been working on this with Thom, who Sae told me was the appointed leader in the reconstruction, for a while now. I take a deep breath for courage and follow him, trying to stay on the outskirts of the crowd so as not to cause a scene with my presence. A few eyes spot me but their owners don't say anything, just stare for a minute, and then they're back to work. Though I am very grateful for this, I suddenly wish I had a hat to hide even more.

Peeta wheels the wood next to a table saw before heading to the door frame to take some measurements, and then does the same with the windows. Not knowing how he will react, I don't know how to approach him. I should definitely wait until he turns around so he's not so surprised. So when he does turn, pushing the retractable tape back into itself, my feet seem to take that as their cue to start moving towards him.

I can see the shock on his face when he looks up from his wood pile after he senses someone approaching. He immediately drops the wood and stands up straight, wiping his hands on his jeans. We stand about three feet apart from one another, neither of us saying anything for a moment.

"Hi, Peeta," I say quietly, almost in a whisper. I'm still getting used to the whole "speaking" concept. My eyes find it hard to meet his, so they stare at the ground and kick some dirt and dust around.

"Katniss." His voice is deep, like it always has been, but is now breathless, kind of like mine just was. Maybe he doesn't talk much either. "You're… out."

I finally bring my eyes up to stare at his. They're still the same blue as always, the warmth and kindness is back in them, but I sense that he's become guarded as well. I can't blame him for that at all.

I nod. "I'm out."

Now that our eyes have met it's like we can't take them off one another's. I've missed him, and I'm beginning to get the feeling that he has, for whatever reason, missed me too. I want to keep our conversation going, so I tell him, "I never got to truly thank you for planting the flowers for me. You have no idea how… much they mean to me."

My voice starts to break and my eyes water. I cross my arms over my chest and look down again. I can't bear for him to see me cry within the first three minutes of contact we've had in what feels like forever.

Just a moment later, however, I feel a calloused finger under my chin, pulling it up so my eyes can find his gaze once again. I'm shocked to see unshed tears swimming in his own eyes, and he clears his throat before saying, "Um, let… let me go find a shirt, and maybe we can take a walk?"

I nod hurriedly before I can do or say anything dumb to mess this up, and take a deep shuddering breath. Peeta walks inside the "door" and through the slots of the frame of the wall I can see him reach into a backpack and pull out a white t-shirt and a large water bottle filled with ice-cold water. He pulls the shirt over his head and sets the backpack back on the concrete foundation before coming back to me.

We say nothing on our walk, which doesn't turn out to be much of a walk at all as we only make it to his house, each taking turns sipping the refreshing water from the plastic bottle. The act feels more intimate than it really is, but I relish it nonetheless. Next thing I know we are sitting on his back porch side by side and watching a few stray geese meander into the yard, which honk obnoxiously and destroy the otherwise peaceful quiet of the Victor's Village.

Maybe in another situation that would have taken place long ago, Haymitch's untended geese might have been amusing, but I don't find them funny in the least. My brain works to find the right thing to say to start this conversation; I feel this it's my responsibility to do so since I was the one who sought him out. "What do we say to one another, Peeta?" I finally ask, not completely sure if it isn't rhetorical. I silently curse my ubiquitous ineloquence and I hug my knees to my chest and rock slightly, waiting for him to reply. Hopefully his amazing ability with words has not been lost.

Peeta sighs and leans back on his elbows, taking a long drink of water. "We can say whatever we want now, I guess." He looks at me, and I can't help but look back at him. "What do you _want_ to say, Katniss?"

I want to tell him everything, except that everything is much too much for today. Today has to be simple, and is all about baby steps. "I want to ask you something, but I don't want you to take it the wrong way."

Peeta nods. "I promise."

"Do you think we can be friends?"

He sighs again and reaches for my hand. I let him take it, even lace my thin fingers between his large ones. "Of course we can."

I feel a weight lifted off my shoulders. "Good. Thank you, Peeta." He looks into my eyes again, as if he senses there's more I need to say. "I was so afraid that either I or the Capitol had manipulated you enough that you wouldn't be able to stand being near me, much less my friend."

Peeta sits up and looks at me like I'm the crazy person that I really am. "Katniss, I don't think you or any other being could completely, one-hundred percent change how I feel about you. Childhood love aside, we've been through too much together for me to want to cut you out of my life." He moves his gaze down to our joined hands that rest on the ground between us, and his voice is hoarse again when he resumes speaking. "And once I started to regain my sanity, I hated myself more than they ever made me hate you, for even _attempting_ to lay a finger on you even with my hijacked mind. So truthfully, I had the same worries, except about me."

I shake my head and a few tears fall down my cheeks. "Oh, Peeta. I never want you to hate yourself, especially over me."

"You're all I have left, Katniss," he whispers, squeezing my hand tightly. "I'll never forgive myself if I do something to get you taken away from me again."

I don't know what to say. "Can I hug you, Peeta?" I choke through my now free-flowing tears.

I'm not sure what made me say it, but I don't regret it one bit when he starts to cry with me, his eyes almost unnaturally blue from the tears, and nods, releasing my hand and opening his arms to me. I launch myself into them and that comfort that I've been missing for the better part of a year is immediately returned. I climb into his lap and we cry into each other's necks, my hands grasping handfuls of the back of his shirt; one of his cradles the back of my head and the other is wrapped around my waist.

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry," I whisper tenderly, vulnerably. His scruff prickles the skin of my nose and forehead where it is tucked under his jaw, but I'm not bothered by it.

"Don't be sorry," he mutters similarly. Part of me expects to hear 'I love you,' after those words, but I find myself mostly relieved when I don't. Whether or not we both know it to be true, neither of us is ready for that. This reconciliation is both so hard yet simultaneously much easier than I had anticipated, and I'm grateful. I'm not sure I could keep living if Peeta had rejected me; he truly is my reason for existing, and is even more so now that I can admit to myself that I do love him.

After a while we begin to calm down, sniffling quietly and wiping each other's eyes. I trail my hands from his cheekbones, down his neck and across his shoulders, over his chest. I can't help but let out a watery chuckle. "When did you get so... muscley? I mean, I've always known you were strong but this is… different."

Peeta laughed too. "In one of my many therapy sessions with Dr. Aurelius, he asked me if I could remember anything physical that made me feel lighter, something that I knew was benefitting multiple parts of me. I told him I remembered forcing you and Haymitch to exercise before the Quell, and that I had enjoyed it. It made me feel powerful afterwards, but in a good way. It cleared my mind and was helping me become stronger. So he suggested that I start a daily fitness routine, since I enjoyed it and that it was a positive outlet for my energy, and it shows progress of some sort." He brushes a few stray hairs out of my eyes and with a smirk finishes, "Which apparently is not lost on you."

I give him a watery smile and stroke his cheek, unable to stop touching him. "Guilty as charged," I murmur.

Peeta's smile fades into a more serious expression. He gently takes my hand off his face and kisses the inside of my bony wrist softly. "Friends?"

I nod, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him to me, glad to have him back in my frail arms, safe and sound. "Friends."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N**: Wow so many reviews last time thank y'all so much! The next chapter might take a little longer than these have because when I'm reading all the parts separately, they aren't flowing very well in chapters, and I feel like the story is moving a little too fast, so I'm thinking of writing another chapter in between this one and the one I already have written. Any thoughts on this? Leave yours in a review!

…

We spend most of our time together now, nearly a month after that afternoon. Forever on a baker's schedule, he wakes early to exercise and bake a few loaves of bread (and my cheese buns, of course), and leaves them on my kitchen table, then heads to the construction site where his new bakery is being built. As we are two of the few who have any kind of extra money, he has hired a few workers to help him mostly because he wants to offer jobs for those capable and in need of one, but insists on being there every day so that he can honestly say that he had a hand in building the business with his name on it. I admire him for it; now Summer, the growing heat is slowly becoming more unbearable.

We eat lunch together every afternoon. I bring a basket filled with a blanket to sit on, fruits, a loaf of his bread, a couple of water jugs, and some of Sae's leftovers from the night before. Today is no exception. It's around 12:30 when I grab the basket I had spent the better part of an hour packing and head out on the ten minute walk to the square.

I find him waiting in the soft patch of new grass a couple of hundred yards behind the nearly-finished bakery, where there is a surprising amount of privacy; between the trees and other buildings, you'd have to be looking for us to see us. He smiles when he sees me and waves, and I grin back.

We've developed a kind of routine for the day. We sleep in our own houses but he always leaves me the bread and cheese buns on my kitchen table before he goes to the bakery in the morning. I do whatever I can to keep myself sane and occupied before we eat lunch together, and afterwards he goes back to work and I go back to my house and learn how to prepare simple meals from Greasy Sae. I've gone from completely hopeless to just miserable. I know this because Peeta has jokingly told me so, and though I'm a little irritated at my lack of cooking skills, hearing him poke fun at me is liberating rather than annoying. He usually goes home after helping with the dishes and bids me goodnight with a friendly hug and a smile.

I fluff out the blanket and he crawls on top of it. I sit next to him and together we unpack the contents of the basket, laying out our options on the soft cloth. We begin to eat in a comfortable silence, making sandwiches out of the bread and the cold cut turkey I purchased from the butcher; I have yet to go hunting, not able to do it alone just yet.

Peeta eyes me for a minute and reaches for my arm with the hand that isn't holding his sandwich, examining my slightly rounder wrist. "You're looking healthier, Katniss. I'm glad."

I smile and move my hand to lace our fingers together momentarily. As much as I would rather not, however, I pull out of his grasp to fan myself with my hand as the heat steadily becomes too much. His expression changes from happy to concerned, and he puts his sandwich down to reach for me. His hand takes my arm again and holds it still while he pushes the sleeve of my blue shirt up my forearm. I yank away from him and pull the sleeve back down. "Don't. Please. You don't want to see that; I'm still not healed."

"Katniss, you're going to give yourself a heatstroke. And I really don't mind. I ha –"

"I don't _want_ you to see, Peeta!" I say harshly. His slightly hurt look makes me want to cry, and I instinctually reach out to touch his cheek. "I'm sorry. It's just… I'm really self-conscious of my skin. I'm hideous."

Peeta grasps my jaw in both of his hands and forces me to look at him. "You're so beautiful, Katniss. No matter what you see in the mirror, or what you think anyone else sees, you have always been and will always be beautiful to me. Do you believe me?"

I nod, feeling tears well in my eyes. "Yes. I do."

"Besides, do you see these?" He pushes my sleeve up again and this time I let him. He holds his tanned arm next to mine, and though his scars are more healed than mine, they are still easily visible. "We match."

And it's the truth. He strokes my cheek with his thumb and his gaze flicks from my eyes to my lips. I'm suddenly a little nervous. Peeta hasn't had an episode since we've been spending time together, and I don't want a kiss to start one. Maybe he's thinking the same thing, as he hesitates about an inch or so from his lips meeting mine.

A second later, though, all nerves float away when those soft lips touch mine so gently that I can't tell if they're really there or if I'm imagining it. This simple touch makes me suddenly feel truly happy for the first time since my father died, and not backhandedly, like when they announced that Peeta and I could both be victors. Needing reassurance that this is real, I reach behind him and run my fingers through the hair at the back of his head, bringing him closer to me and deepening our shallow kiss. I feel Peeta elicit a sigh against my mouth and it brings a smile to my face. He's ok. Kissing me isn't triggering an episode. At this sudden knowledge, I feel my inhibitions lessening as our lips move in perfect sync together, and I'm very reassured that I am not imagining this; it's real.

"Peeta," I murmur between kisses. He pulls away almost at once, his eyes fluttering open adorably as he meets my steady gaze; his is slightly concerned but I can see he's pouting a little also. It makes me giggle.

I think the sound surprises me more than it does him. My fingertips fly to my lips, as if they can't believe my mouth is capable of making such a sound anymore. His eyes widen and he smiles. "You laughed," he says with wonder. He tugs on my short braid affectionately. "What's so funny, might I ask?"

I smile. "You just looked so disappointed and pouty. It was cute," I tell him softly, running my fingers through the top of his hair. I love his hair.

"I just wanted to make sure you were ok," Peeta reassures, trailing a hand on my knee.

I fight not to shudder. "It was perfect."

Peeta chuckles and leans forward to capture my lips in the deepest kiss we've had in a long time. His tongue flicks against my bottom lip, but he pulls away again before I can properly respond. "Yeah," he says when we're completely separated. "It was pretty perfect."

We continue for a while until I remember that we're in public, in broad daylight. I'm not ready for everyone to know of my and Peeta's newfound relationship. This is ours to share for now. We clean up and with one last goodbye kiss we go our separate ways for the rest of the afternoon.

Tonight after supper, after Greasy Sae has left and as Peeta is pulling on his shoes, I finally work up the courage to touch his arm and act on the instinct that I feel most nights. "Don't go tonight. Please," I whisper. My nightmares are now a mix of the old and the fairly new. Either way, I feel like our newfound intimacy with the kiss warrants sleeping in the same bed again, if only for the sake of having each other there for comfort.

Peeta hesitates for a moment. I know he's still having a hard time trusting himself to be completely alone with me, but I also know he has nightmares just as bad as mine – nightmares about me dying. "Katniss…" He looks at me warily. "What if I wake up and I'm not myself? There will be no one to stop me. I just can't put you in that position."

I place a hand on his jaw and look him straight in the eye. "I trust you Peeta, and you should trust yourself. _Please_ stay with me. I… I need you to stay."

Peeta just looks at me for a minute, but then nods minutely. "Ok. But if I even start to sense an episode coming up, I'm leaving."

I nod more enthusiastically than is probably necessary, but it makes him smile. "I need to run home to shower and grab some clothes."

"No!" I shout, grabbing his hand as he turns for the door. His eyebrows raise and I look at the floor, embarrassed. "I mean, please don't. I'm afraid you'll change your mind."

Peeta tilts my chin up. "I promise I'll come back Katniss. At least let me get clothes, and I'll shower over here. How's that sound?"

Why am I suddenly feeling so vulnerable? Even though it's Peeta, I don't like the sensation. In a way, the fact that it is Peeta makes it even worse. He's always taking care of me in some way, so feeling vulnerable around him is almost comparable to feeling like a child. And maybe I am a bit scared that the hijacking might take over in the middle of the night, but if there's anyone who should know by now that living life in fear is not living at all, it's me. If I let him go tonight, I know there's definitely the possibility that I won't be so courageous tomorrow night, and I never know when I'll slip back into the equivalent of living in fear – surviving. If I'm going to die with anyone, _by_ anyone, it's Peeta. That's the way it's always been. And who's to say I can't stop him? Maybe there's something about me that can calm him down as much as I can work him up.

My brain comes back to the present, and my eyes find his questioning blue ones. I suddenly remember he's waiting for an answer. "Promise?" I hate how childish it sounds, but I can't take it back. I have a feeling I'll always be this way with him.

Peeta leans down and brushes his lips against mine sweetly. "I promise," he says after pulling away. He squeezes my hand and this time when he turns for the door, I let him go.

I find myself on the couch when, true to his word, Peeta returns not five minutes later holding a pair of boxers, pajama pants, jeans, and a t-shirt. Together we walk up the stairs and awkwardly into my bedroom. I tell him to take his time in the shower while I go find him a pillow. I find one in the linen closet and slip it into a pillowcase before opening my drawer to find pajamas. Usually I just sleep in an oversized shirt and comfy cotton panties, but I don't want to make Peeta uncomfortable. I find a pair of frilly, "cute" sleep shorts that Cinna made for me long ago, but forgo the little matching camisole top, favoring instead a loose t-shirt.

I make sure the water is still running before quickly stripping off the day's clothes and throwing on my pajamas. I'm too tired for a shower, and it's really unnecessary since I haven't done anything to get dirty. I sit on the edge of the bed and wait for him to emerge so that I can go brush my teeth.

I hear the water shut off and a minute later the door swings open. I think my mouth might have, too. Because standing in front of me is not a clothed Peeta, but a naked Peeta whose bottom half is hidden only by a fluffy white towel held together low at his hips.

"Sorry," he says, walking to me hurriedly. "Forgot my pants."

Sure enough he bends to pick up the cotton pajama pants that had at one point fallen to the floor at my feet. When he stands back up his stomach is at my eye-level, and all I can concentrate on for that one solid second are the bumps of his muscles and the fine trail of blonde hair that runs from his bellybutton to the top of his towel.

The door clicks shut again and I flop back on the bed, groaning a little bit. He has suddenly made me feel vulnerable and childish not in the little-kid way, but in the hormonal teenager kind of way; the way I should have been feeling for years now, but didn't have the priority for. I find myself _wanting_ to feel that, with Peeta.

I sit myself back up just in time for him to emerge, fully clothed this time. He smiles at me and runs a hand through his wet curls, dragging some of the excess water from the thick strands. We trade places and I finish brushing my teeth and applying my skin ointment quickly, eager for the first time in a long time to go to bed.

We snuggle into the covers, and it's just like all those times before the Quell, except without the underlying belief that we only had days to live. I bury my nose into the soft fabric of his t-shirt, which is warm from the contact of his skin fresh out of the hot shower. The smell of the shirt, of _him_, overpowers the lingering smell of my soap, and it's one of the most comforting things in the world right now.

"I'm afraid to sleep," I blurt out, hiding my face in his chest as soon as I've said it.

Peeta tugs the elastic out of my hair and runs his fingers through my dark waves. "So am I," he whispers, stroking my head gently. "But we have each other here now, Katniss. I'll be there for you whenever you wake up tonight, and you'll be there for me."

He brings my head up and leans down to kiss me, suckling my bottom lip between his. The kisses are deep but lazy, and while they are insanely pleasurable, they're also making me feel very lethargic. I sigh and break away, and we settle into a comfortable spooning position. I can feel the cooler knee of his prosthetic through his pants as his entire body adjusts to be flush against mine. One of his strong arms wraps around my middle and pulls me even closer to him, and his face nuzzles into my hair. I feel content enough to actually let my eyes flutter closed without resistance, and my hand moves of its own accord to play with the fingers of his own that is lying in front of me.

"Goodnight, Katniss."

"Sweet dreams, Peeta."

And they must have been, because when I wake with the early morning light, neither of us has moved an inch.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N**: Sorry this chapter has taken so long. Not only is going back to college after a nice summer completely draining, I felt that a buffer chapter between the previous and next ones was needed. It's a little long and a little (hemhem a lot) cathartic, but maybe you'll like it. Hopefully the wait hasn't driven away my wonderful reviewers (who will get a preview of chapter 5 if they review!)

…

I slowly turn in Peeta's arms and look at him through my sleep-fogged eyes and the hazy morning light. His face is undeniably handsome even in my blurry vision, his golden curls slightly unruly from the pillow and the summer humidity; he likes to sleep with the window open, and despite the warmth it let in, the temperature in the room was perfect.

I sighed and nuzzled my nose into his chest, feeling utterly content between getting what I now realize as my first full, undisturbed night's sleep in over a year and waking up in Peeta's arms. The impact of how much I've missed this is sudden and hits me full force. Why had I not savored the simplicity and comfort of him while I could? Maybe it would have made all those months of sleepless nights and exhausted days easier to bear.

I was too busy thinking about holding someone else in _my_ arms.

The familiar prickle behind my eyes is mostly annoying, but my dismantled soul welcomes them at the same time. Darkly, it tells me that I need to mourn her forever, that she deserves to be in my place with a sweet, attractive boy – or anyone, for that matter – to comfort her.

I can feel that subtle shift in my mind that warns me I'm on the verge of slipping into the black abyss again. My ears tune out the chirping of the birds that until now were pleasant background noise. My eyes focus on the empty whiteness of Peeta's shirt, and I no longer smell his clean, familiar scent. My ears ring, my eyes hurt from staring at one thing for too long, and I smell roses and blood. I'm drowning in my own thoughts. _Prim is dead. Prim is gone. I want Prim here. I'll never see Prim again. Prim, Prim, Prim…_

A lower sound registers in my eardrums, but it's faint. I shut my eyes tight and will it to go away, trying to replace it with the sound of her voice, of her giggles. There's pressure on my shoulder, on the back of my head, fingers wiping away wetness on my cheeks. There's a soft press to my lips but the tingling sensation it brings lasts only a heartbeat. I wonder if Prim had ever been kissed.

I will my muscles to roll on my opposite side so that I'm facing the wall. How did this happen? Was I not somewhat happy maybe three minutes ago? I don't know the answer. I only know that I can't do anything. I must lay here and think of her until… what? I don't know the answer to that either. An arm bands around my waist and pulls me against a warm wall of flesh. I used to hold Prim like this when she had a bad dream, or couldn't sleep. Unlike me, she thrived on human closeness and warm reassurances from those she loved and those who loved her.

That's exactly what I'm getting now from Peeta. It does nothing to ease my thoughts, but it does keep me from going off into that dark fantasy world where I imagine Prim to be alive, yet simultaneously know she's not really there. It's torture. This boy is keeping me grounded and somewhat sane, that I can tell. So I don't push him away. I don't kick him out. And he doesn't seem to be going anywhere himself, either.

I'm not entirely sure how long we lay there. All I have to go by is the color of the wall that my eyes never deviate from. By the time it turns orange, I am incredibly hungry, but I ignore it. I can't eat. Prim can't eat, so why should I? I feel the rumble of Peeta's stomach against my back, but he doesn't move. He just holds me.

I don't really realize I've fallen asleep until I wake up from an awful nightmare in which I was held down by mutts while Prim burned to death, screaming for my help. I cried and cried, flailing my arms and legs in an attempt to get to her, but this only resulted in claws or teeth sinking into my flesh. My inability to save her results in Prim melting to a puddle on the blackened ground.

"Katniss! Katniss, please wake up!" Peeta's loud, tortured voice jolts me into consciousness. I'm taking deep, shuddering breaths and I'm on the verge of hyperventilating. "It was just a dream Katniss, none of it was real, I promise."

He's almost completely on top of me and has my arms pinned to my sides to keep from injuring myself and him. The phantom pain is gone, but I can tell the precise amount of pressure of his fingers around my biceps. This is the only reassuring thing I can get out of the situation, because it means I can feel again. I can also feel his legs on mine where his pant legs have ridden up, the soft downy hair on his good leg and the warm metal of the other against the smoothness of my own skin. It's oddly comforting, or as close to comforting as I can feel at the moment.

My breathing slows down to almost normal before I attempt to move my arms. He lets go immediately, but now they go underneath me to pull me to his chest, and I reciprocate by wrapping my arms around his neck, holding him to me as tightly as possible. Peeta rolls us to the side, and we embrace each other even more by tangling our legs together.

"You scared the shit out of me, Katniss," he whispers, and his voice is pained. "What happened?"

I'm silent as we cling to each other so tightly I'm not sure where he begins and I end. "I can't," is all I manage. I'm not sure what that's supposed to convey. I can't say her name, because I'll fall into that mess all over again? I can't explain what happened? I can't do anything but hold him, is all I know.

"It was her," he says, again in that same tortured voice, but it's a whisper now, as if he can hardly talk about her as much as I can. "I know it was. You were screaming her name, for her to come to you." My hand fists into his soft curls and pull his face to my neck, where I can feel his breathing on my skin. I do the same to him, burying my nose into his warm flesh. "You're not alone in this, Katniss. I know nothing compares to watching your sister die, but I lost my father and brothers, too. And my mother…"

We're silent as I ponder this. Truthfully, I have forgotten that Peeta has lost his entire family as well. "Do you miss her?" I murmur pathetically. I sound like a four year old. I realize I'm crying.

Peeta doesn't answer right away, but I have no idea what to expect from him. "No," he finally gets out in a broken voice. "Does that make me a horrible person?"

"No," I tell him immediately. I remember his abusive mother with her boxy build and sourpuss face, so unlike her son. "What did she hit you with that day, Peeta?"

There's no need for clarification. "A marble rolling pin."

I feel wetness on my neck, and I realize he's crying. I lean back slightly from our embrace and kiss his cheek and eye on the spot where I remember the purple and black bruise that he'd had for nearly two weeks. I can taste the salt and pain of his tears, and I have an overwhelming need to console him. "She didn't deserve a son like you," I tell him, and he's sobbing now, and for once it's _my_ turn to comfort _him_. I press more wet kisses over his face and in his hair, letting him get it all out. This is the second time I've seen him teary since I've known him, but this is the only time I've seen him _cry_.

Eventually his sobs reduce to sniffles. "I – I miss my father. He was always kind and gentle and caring, the opposite of her. He always stopped her from hurting us if she tried when he was around. He taught me a trade, how to bake; he bought me my first set of paints and a canvas when I was ten, after he sold a particularly big cake to a Peacekeeper. He taught me to be compassionate and giving." His voice is cracked and stuffy, and he pauses to take a deep breath and sniff. "I miss my brothers. They wrestled with me, and sometimes took the blame for something I did, just to protect me from whatever happened to be in our mother's hand. They taught me about girls. They were my best friends."

I can't stop crying. I feel guilty for being so self-centered, only thinking of Prim and not helping him with this cathartic talk that he obviously is in desperate need of, whether he realizes it or not. I feel sad, because I wish I had known his family better. I knew his father was one of the nicest men in our district, and always gave me the largest, freshest loaves of hearty bread in exchange for my squirrels. I feel sorry for Peeta, because I realize how fully he was telling the truth when he told me I'm all he has left. "But I don't miss her," he says in a whisper. "It's hard to miss your own mother if your only memories of her are of her never once saying that she loves you and of her beating you with a marble rolling pin."

I nod. The bitter tone in his voice is so unusual for him and reminds me of when he got back from the Capitol in nearly unnerves me.

"I don't miss my mother, either," I confess. He finally pulls his face away from my neck to look me in the eye. His frown deepens when he realizes how much I'm sobbing, and he reaches up to wipe away my tears. "I guess the feeling's mutual, because in the months that I've been back in Twelve, she hasn't called me once to see how I'm doing. It only reiterates why I've never forgiven her for shutting down like she did after my father died. I could maybe understand if it was just me, because I pretty much take care of myself. But Prim was so young and helpless and innocent. She deserved a mother. She deserved to be a mother one day; she would have been an amazing one."

"You will be too," Peeta says, and I can tell by the immediate look of stress in his eyes that he regrets saying it. We've made a lot of emotional progress tonight, and I think he thinks he's just erased some of it. To think this all started with a nightmare is all very strange. I think we're both too broken to care how we get through this, as long as it happens, even if we don't realize even that until it does occur.

A couple of tears cling to his thick lashes and I brush them away with my thumb. I still don't want children, and he seems to know that, but I don't have the heart to restate the fact to him tonight. I hold both of his cheeks in my hands and kiss him gently. The taste of our tears mingles on my lips when I pull away. I keep our foreheads touching, and our eyes remain closed. "I want to live for them, Peeta," I whisper, but my tone is clear and strong. "We don't have to live miserably, as long as we have each other."

Peeta pulls back a tiny bit and looks at me with wide eyes and nods. "It'll be hard sometimes," he says, "but we can do it. You'll be there for me when I have a flashback. And I'll be there for you when you think of her."

He took the words out of my mouth. "I love you, Peeta."

The sentiment is past my lips before I can stop it. My heart drops to my stomach when he just looks at me. This must have been how he felt all those times he told me the same words, only to get my ruthless stare. "If this is just a heat of the moment thing, Katniss, then please don't say that. I… I can't take that right now." He releases his arms from around my waist and takes my wrists in his hands. "Do you mean it?"

His voice is guarded and so un-Peeta, who usually wears his heart on his sleeve, that my eyes water all over again. "With all my heart, Peeta. You have to believe me. Please." I'm begging, but for him I will. Only him.

Our eyes stay connected for what feels like an eternity before he ducks his head to kiss me soundly, pushing his tongue between my lips, and I can't stop the tiny moan that comes out of my mouth. I pull my wrists out of his grasp and put them on the small of his back under his shirt, bringing his body to touch mine again.

His lips mesh with mine over and over again, his tongue swiping deftly against mine in kiss after passionate kiss. "I believe you." _Kiss_. "I love you too, Katniss. So much."

He gives me one more soft kiss before trailing his hand across my forehead, pushing back some of my hair.

"Peeta?"

"Yes?"

"I'm hungry."

He chuckles and sits us up. Telling him I love you for the first time seems to have excited him past his earlier exhaustion.

We head downstairs and fix ourselves some hot tea wolf down a couple of cheese buns. It's all we have the energy for no matter how hungry we are, but it's satisfying nonetheless.

When we're finished and ready for bed it's about two in the morning. Peeta whisks me off my feet when we reach the foot of the stairs and carries me up. I scowl at him when he does this and am about to reprimand him, but the feel of his chest and shoulders against my body is worth the sickeningly romantic gesture. I'm too worn out for that, also. Next time he tries it he'll get the earful.

He places me on the middle of the bed when we've made it there, and he immediately crawls next to me as soon as I'm down. His body curls around mine like it did last night, his right arm going around the top of my ribcage and his left under my head. I'm back to feeling sated and content, his easy sigh against my neck making me shudder slightly.

"I'm glad you told me all that, Katniss," he says quietly, and I can tell he's already halfway to unconsciousness. "It makes me feel better when I know what's going on in your head."

"You too," I say, and I mean it. "Thank you for telling me about your family."

"You're welcome."

I can't help but realize even in my lethargic state that Peeta has almost completely changed me in the course of a few weeks. Never before have I wanted someone to know what was going on in my head. And yet here I am pouring my heart out to him, crying in front of him, telling him that I love him.

One thing that hasn't changed is how good it makes me feel when I know I've made him happy. The last thing I remember before drifting off to sleep is him pressing soft kisses to the back of my head and neck, murmuring, "I love you, I love you," over and over again. He's definitely happy. I barely mange it back before I'm out.

The next morning I wake with the sun. Peeta is surprisingly still asleep, usually up way before now. We had a long night, though, and one day of no exercising and building and baking won't hurt him. He needs rest.

I get out of bed to use the bathroom and he groans a little bit, immediately reaching for me in the now empty spot on the bed. I almost feel guilty for leaving him, but I have other plans for today. I shower then dress, and when I reemerge from the bathroom braiding my wet hair, I'm a little surprised to see he's still conked out. I smile at how he's now splayed out on the bed, sleeping peacefully. I grab a notepad from the top of the dresser and scrawl out a quick note.

_Gone hunting. I'll see you around 11. I love you_

I leave it on my pillow and grab my bow, arrows, and game bag before heading out to the woods.

I arrive back home just when I said I would, a few minutes before eleven. I come in through the back door, and I see Peeta opening the oven and pulling out a loaf of bread I don't recognize. It smells amazing, though.

I can't help but smile at how cute he is, wearing a tank top that he's cut the arm holes halfway down his side, mesh shorts, no shoes, and oven mitts. I must have smiled more today than I have in months. I smiled this morning, almost the whole time in the woods, and now.

Hunting without Gale was undeniably hard at first. I missed his companionship, our comfortable silences and occasionally our playful banter. But Gale isn't a part of my life anymore, not really, anyways. I've forgiven him for the possibility that the bombs were his. Forgetting is almost harder than forgiving, though. I just know that whether I've forgiven him or not, however, we will never have what we did. It makes me even more thankful for Peeta.

"Got anything?" he asks, bringing me back to reality. He nudges his head at the bag slung over my shoulder.

I nod, heaving the bag onto the table. "A hen, some squirrels, and a couple of rabbits," I list, feeling rather proud of myself. All were clean kills, too.

"Well, you know my favorite," Peeta says, smiling and walking towards me for a kiss. I give him one, but I'm a little grimy and eager to change clothes.

"You're the chef. They're already skinned and gutted," I tell him.

I go change into jeans and a short sleeve shirt and come back down to find Peeta cutting up the squirrel for stew. It's just as well, as I had had a big breakfast of cheese buns and an apple.

"What did you bake?" I ask curiously, leaning down to sniff the bread that now has a thin white glaze on it and sits on a cooling rack.

"Pumpkin bread," he answers, throwing in some chopped vegetables with the broth and squirrel meat. "Try it. I'm thinking of selling it in the fall as a seasonal thing."

I cut me a slice of the warm bread and take a bite. It's heaven, sweet yet a little spicy. There are even raisins in it, which give it a tangy flavor as well. "It's so good, Peeta," I praise quietly, leaning into his side as I wolf down the rest. He puts one arm around me and stirs the pot with the other, lowering his head to kiss the top of my head. "I love you," he says.

"I love you."

And so begins our attempt at living.

…

A/N: You like? I swear you'll get more sexy action next chapter. Review and you'll get a sneak peak at chapter 5!


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N**: Wow y'all thank you so much for all of the reviews on the last chapter! Think we can make it to 100 before the next chapter? You all rock! Ok **finally here's that** **M** **rating** that I hope you're all okay with reading. If not this is your warning. See it's in bold! No excuses haha. I like giving you all previews, you definitely deserve it if you take the time to review. So again anyone who reviews gets a sneak peek at chapter 6! I hope you like this one.

P.S. I hate reading my M chapters. It's a little awkward, so sorry for any mistakes; it's because I just skimmed it.

…

A few weeks pass, and now the bakery is finally finished. Peeta hasn't let me see the completed inside yet, but he's promised me a tour tomorrow, a week before he has his grand reopening.

"Can you at least tell me what color you painted it?" I ask, giving him big, pouty eyes as we snuggle into bed together in the darkness of our room.

He kisses me swiftly and my eyes immediately shut, along with my pleading gaze that he is usually a complete sucker for.

"No," he says, grinning, and turns away from me teasingly.

I laugh and curl myself around his broad frame as best I can and rest my chin on his shoulder, pressing a warm kiss behind his ear. Despite his best efforts, I can feel him shudder slightly. "_Please_, Peeta?" I exaggerate, pulling out every trick in my book. Puppy eyes – check; kiss to that spot on his neck – check. The "please" is my last resort.

Peeta puts a hand over the ear that's not against the pillow. "La la la! I'm going to pretend like you just called me the meanest name ever and that you did not just give me the '_pleeease'_, Katniss Everdeen."

I flop back onto the bed and let out a dramatic groan, turning my back to his. "Fine, then. I'll just wait til tomorrow."

I can hear Peeta chuckle despite his best efforts, and truthfully it brings on a tiny smirk of my own. "Are we having our first fight as a couple?"

I tense almost imperceptibly for a reason even I can't really think of. Maybe because it's the first time I've ever heard it spoken out loud in that direct term: _couple_. I've never wanted to be part of a couple, unless it was my and Gale's hunting companionship. Despite my ingrained inhibitions, I don't find it nearly as frightening as I once did; possibly because this time I choose to be part of the relationship, rather than shoved into it with no say whatsoever. I mean, I've already made the biggest step by professing my love for him. Of course it's only natural that we call ourselves a couple.

Even though I know I'm being irrational, the fact that I'm not hyperventilating at the realization of… everything, makes me smile – it means even more progress in my emotional and mental state. "Seems like it, doesn't it?"

Peeta laughs without hesitation this time and rolls over to hold me the way I had a minute earlier, only he is much more successful. His body clicks into place behind mine and I feel his warm lips brush my neck. I shiver and let out the tiniest moan as his kisses move to my throat, his tongue darting out against my pulse. I shift to lay on my back and Peeta moves so that he is half-lying on top of me, one of his big hands caressing my side while he brushes kiss after delectable kiss anywhere but my lips.

"Peeta," I whimper, gripping his hair and trying to direct him to my mouth. Peeta resists, and I can sense his smile as he nuzzles his nose against mine in a gesture so sweet and so _Peeta_ that I want to just eat him up. Not in the carnal sense, but I suddenly just want more of him. I force his lips to meet mine, finally, and we both let out content sighs. Confident that he won't move away from me, I let my hands travel to his strong back and feel the hard planes through his thin t-shirt.

As if we are having the same thoughts (which, now that I think about it, we probably are, respectively), our hands slip under the white cotton of each other's shirts simultaneously. Though the shirts are identical (they are both Peeta's) mine reaches the middle of my thigh while his fits normal, and as his hands inch up my body, they bring my shirt with them.

I can't stop my breath from hitching against his when his fingertips brush my ribcage right next to my breasts, the sensation positively setting me alight with pleasure and nervousness. Peeta pulls back to look at me with lust-darkened, yet completely loving, blue eyes, and moves his hand to the safety of my hip, my shirt falling back down with it. "Is this okay, Katniss? We can stop now if you want, whenever you want; I promise I'll stop."

I look back into his cerulean eyes and I just can't help but love him. Maybe in my very limited experience I've got no right to be the judge of character of sexually charged teenaged boys, but I don't know how many in Peeta's situation would stop what was quickly escalating into something more for the first time just to tell the girl that he would back off whenever she wanted. If anything, it makes me want him that much more. I briefly wonder when I became such a sappy _girl_ and kiss him softly yet passionately, trailing my tongue along his bottom lip as I pull away.

"I don't think I'm ready tonight," I whisper in his ear, and despite what he said a moment ago, I feel him deflate slightly. I'm not through, though. I tug his earlobe gently between my teeth and blow into his ear, a move he used on me a couple weeks ago, and I had nearly fainted, it was so hot. The effect on him is similar, and he lets out a shuddering sigh onto my cheek. "But that doesn't mean we can't try… other things."

I pull his shirt over his head and toss it to the floor. I can feel him smile against my cheek as he finally settles all of his weight on top of me, and for the first time I can feel just how much of an effect I've had on him. He grinds the evidence into my center, and I can't stop my groan of pleasure as his hardness briefly relieves just a little bit of the ache. "What kind of 'other things?'" he growls lowly. I don't have an answer because I don't really know. My knowledge of sex is very basic and fundamental, so I was hoping he'd take the lead on this. He seems to sense this, kind of, because he mutters, "Show me, Katniss."

Butterflies explode in my stomach and I have to bite my lip to keep from whimpering. If he ever uses that voice in public I may embarrass myself completely. I know this is his way of helping me along, yet allowing me to set the pace. Realizing that something's got to go, my hands tremble as they reach for the hem of my (his) shirt, whipping it over my head before I can psych myself out of it.

Peeta's eyes meet mine longingly before trailing down to my naked torso. His gaze makes me feel both insanely uncomfortable yet somehow powerful and… beautiful. My skin is almost as healed as his, and although the pink lines and patches jump out against my naturally tan skin, I'm not nearly as self-conscious about them as I used to be. I figure if Peeta can bare them to the whole town along with his artificial leg every now and then, then I can show him all of mine.

He doesn't say anything, but even through the darkness I see his eyes convey it all as they meet mine. He ducks his head to place the softest kiss on my collarbone, letting it linger for a moment. His lips trace shoulder to shoulder, and my eyes close as sensation overcomes me, his lips so close to where I instinctually want them, yet not quite reaching them. My breathing becomes deeper when he lowers his mouth even further, now to the tops of my breasts. His tongue laves that area of my skin in a slow swipe before he nips gently at the swell of my left breast.

He places tiny kisses all around my nipple, and then the other, and I moan and clutch the back of his head as the teasing steadily becomes too much. "Peeta," I whimper, and try to force him where I want him. I can hear his low chuckle before he finally closes his lips around the hardened peak, suckling on it lightly and making me see stars. The pressure and the warmth of his mouth is something I could never have imagined before. His left hand travels up my body to squeeze the pliable flesh of my right breast, his deft, skilled fingers kneading gently yet firmly. It's all so overwhelmingly new, yet it feels incredible. All I want him to do is never stop.

But he does, and his mouth moves from my breasts to drag heated kisses all down my body, hardly leaving an inch untouched. His attention makes me squirm, as some places tickle, while others simply send a jolt of pleasure to my core. He nips one of those places, the skin of my lower belly, and before I know it he's at my eye level once again. It takes me just a second to open my eyes and realize this when I find his gaze meeting mine.

Peeta leans down and kisses me gently, lovingly, and it's the best kiss that he's given me tonight so far. I wrap my arms around his neck and clutch him to me; I never want to let him go. Much to my dismay, he separates our lips softly and looks at me once again. In the moonlight I can make out the obvious mix of adoration and lust, something that would have scared me before, but now I cherish it.

"Can I taste you, Katniss?" Peeta whispers lowly, never taking his eyes off mine.

"Taste me?" I am instantly confused. Was he not just tasting me earlier, planting those delectable kisses and nibbles all over my body?

The corner of Peeta's mouth tilts up and I just _know_ he's thinking of the purity debate. It makes me flush with annoyance and embarrassment, but a moment later his tiny smirk is gone and the reverence is back in his gaze. He brings one hand up to brush a piece of hair from my flushed face, kissing a line from my forehead to my ear. "Let me lick you," he breathes directly into it, and his voice alone is going to make me moan, but he moves his fingers to my center and trails them over the damp fabric of my underwear. "Down here."

His gesture actually makes me cry out as he rubs the sensitive area of my sex, and I clutch his shoulders as his fingers continually perform their magic on my body. It seems like a strange thing that he wants to do, as well as incredibly intimate, but I trust him. "O-okay."

Peeta kisses my cheek. "Don't worry, Katniss. I promise you'll like it."

I look down as he hooks his fingers around the sides of my panties and slowly tugs them down, kissing each bit of skin as it is exposed to his lips. When they're completely off he tosses them to the side and spreads my legs. He must notice the trembling in my thighs as he settles between them, because he looks up at me with those beautiful azure eyes and assures me again. "Don't be nervous, Katniss. It's just me; I love you."

I nod and Peeta offers me his left hand, and I take it immediately, threading our fingers together as soon as our palms touch. His other hand roots my hip to the bed, and finally he allows himself to look at my most intimate part for the first time.

All the waxings from my prep team had apparently been so invasive that the hair on my legs, arms and mound refuses to grow back. It doesn't bother me so much anymore, and especially not now. My baby-soft skin is much more sensitive to this new touch, and if Peeta is going to see me like this I honestly would rather be this way.

Peeta sighs but never closes his eyes. "You're so beautiful, Katniss," he murmurs quietly. I squeeze his hand and watch him kiss and nip each of my inner thighs, making me moan lightly and my eyes flutter. I want to watch what he does, though, so I force my eyes to stay open.

That willpower is truly tested when he gently licks my entire slit, and I can't stop the gasp of surprise and pleasure from leaving my lips. "Oh, Peeta!" I moan, clutching his hand tightly as somehow I manage to watch as he does it again, then kiss my outer lips, and finally plant a kiss at the very top, on that sensitive bundle of nerves. That makes me cry out even louder, and the fingers of my other hand clutch the sheets tightly.

He seems to be back in that teasing mood he was in earlier, because after I make it known how much I like that spot, he leaves it. His tongue moves down to my opening, and an entirely new sensation overcomes me when he thrusts his tongue inside. Our moans melt together, which turns me on even more. "Fuck, baby," he mutters, and I think it's the first time I've ever heard him say such a word. "You taste so good. So good…"

I can tell he isn't lying or doing this for just my benefit when I catch a glimpse of his face buried between my thighs, his expression one of utter pleasure as he continues to swirl his tongue in me, around me, up and down and every direction as I simply lose myself in the utter pleasure he is giving me. Despite how arousing it was to watch him do that to me, to see how much he really loved "tasting me", as he said, I give up the battle of keeping my eyes open and simply _feel_. It probably goes without saying how good it feels to _feel_, but that in itself to me is fairly unknown. Only with Peeta have I ever been carefree enough to do that.

Suddenly his mouth moves to that place I've been wanting him to return to since he started, and I feel one of his fingers slip inside me. The combined sensations cause me to moan the loudest I have all night, and my hips surge off the bed to meet his mouth as much as they can with his restraining hand. Steadily, I can feel that thing I've been working towards all night sneaking up on me. It sits low in my belly, just needing a little bit more…

"Peeta, please," I manage to whimper, gripping his fingers and hair like a vice.

I don't really know what I'm begging for, but he apparently does. He sucks the bundle into his mouth and flicks it rapidly with his tongue, and adds another finger into me, thrusting them in and out. "Come for me, Katniss," he growls, releasing my clit and curling his fingers to touch some magical spot within me as he says the words.

All of those combine to make something inside me explode, and I can vaguely hear myself calling out his name as wave after wave of ecstasy washes over me. When I start to come down from my high, my breathing slowing to a normal rate, I realize he's still gently stroking me with his tongue and kissing my outer lips, calmly bringing me down to earth. I release his hair from my hold and tug on his shoulders so we can face each other again before dragging him into a heated kiss.

"That was amazing, Peeta," I murmur when I pull away, only to move my lips to his jaw.

"You're amazing," he counters sweetly, groaning softly when my lips touch the spot behind his ear again. "I would do that to you all day, every day if I could."

"I can't say I'd object to that," I smirk, kissing him again. As our lips and tongues mesh together, my hands pass down his muscled torso to stop at his hips, pushing down his boxers in one swift motion before he can stop me.

Peeta pulls away almost at once and looks me in the eye. "Katniss, I thought you said you didn't want to go all the way tonight," he reminds, taking my hands in his.

"I don't; I'm returning the favor. Now lie back," I order, pushing at his broad shoulders so we can flip positions.

He obliges but the sweet, gentlemanly Peeta persists through his obvious desire, which I can feel against my leg but refuse to look at just yet as I shove his boxers down off the rest of his legs. "You don't have to, Katniss." I sit on my knees between his legs and place my hand over his strong, rapid heartbeat.

"I want to," I insist, leaning down to kissing him firmly. When I pull back he has that expectant, bewildered look on his face that reminds me of the first time I kissed him in the cave. "I don't really know what I'm doing, though. You'll have to show me. What you like, I mean," I finish awkwardly.

I can feel myself blushing at how much of an inexperienced virgin I sound like. The thought brings up an issue that hadn't even crossed my mind until now, and that is the question of whether or not Peeta himself is a virgin. Against my inner desires to believe the opposite, I would guess that he, in fact, is not. Between his excellent performance a few minutes ago and his easiness with nudity and such, at the very least he's had some kind of experience with another girl (girls?).

I don't want to think about the possibility that Peeta has done this with anyone but me. I push the concern from my mind for the time being and lean down to bring our lips together once again, sneaking my tongue past his lips so it can meet his. One of my hands clutches his hair as we kiss and the other trails down his body, fingernails scraping over the muscles in his abdomen, which contract in response.

Finally I lean back and take him in my hand, watching his face for clues on what he likes and doesn't like. Apparently I'm off to a good start, because he groans lightly as soon as my fingers lightly stroke his length. I have a sudden desire to look at what I'm holding in my loose fist, and I'm surprised to say the least at what I see. He's bigger than I would have imagined, maybe around six or seven inches, and plenty thick. I feel myself getting wetter just looking at him, imagining him inside me.

Peeta just lets me stare, but I can tell he's getting anxious, needing more. I stroke again, this time with my whole fist rather than just my fingers. He's delicately soft, but impossibly hard underneath the smooth skin. I move my hand up and down a couple more times, but I still feel lost. "Show me, Peeta," I repeat his words from earlier, and I'm relieved when his big hand closes around mine.

He doesn't move it around himself, though, but instead to my own nether regions. I can feel the wetness that has been gathering there coat my fingers, and when he senses this Peeta bring our hands back to his length, gripping tighter than I ever would have thought would be pleasurable. He moves my now lubricated hand up and down, then twists our fists towards the base and comes back up a little faster than I had been going.

Soon I get the hang of the rhythm and he lets go, his hand going to my breast to tug on my nipple. "Yes, Katniss," he mutters in the sexiest voice, and he seems to be fighting the same battle I had earlier as his eyes flutter open and closed, open and closed. I smile and watch his beautiful face succumb to the pleasure I'm giving him as he drops his hand from my breast and lets his head roll back into the pillow, his hips starting moving in time with my strokes. I notice that there's a clear liquid leaking from his tip, and I smooth it across the head of him with my thumb. Peeta groans loudly and somehow he forces his eyes open to look into my own. I speed up my strokes, never taking my eyes off his, and his jaw drops open slightly as he gets closer and closer to his impending release. "Fuck… you're gonna make me come, baby. Please, Katniss," he whispers.

I lean over and bring our mouths together for a heated, open-mouthed kiss and a few moments later I feel some of his warmth spill into my hand, the sound of his low moan of pleasure filling my ears. I smile against his lips as our kiss slows and I continue to move my hand up and down until he is mostly soft in my grasp.

His breathing is heavy and he flushes a bit more than he already is from his orgasm when he sees the mess in my hand. "Sorry," he whispers, grabbing a shirt off the floor and handing it to me.

I wipe most of it from my palm, but I notice a tiny amount on my ring finger. I make sure he's looking me in the eye, grin mischievously, and swipe up the pearly liquid from my finger with my tongue, swallowing it greedily. Peeta moans again, almost instinctually, and brings me into his arms. "You'll be the death of me, Katniss Everdeen."

I'm still grinning when I rest my head on his shoulder, but I'm completely exhausted. "So are you gonna tell me the color now?"

He turns me in his arms so we're spooning, and I hold the hand of his arm resting between my breasts against my cheek, and smiles into my hair. "Never." He kisses the back of my head. "But I still love you."

"Good. I guess I still love you too, even if you won't tell."

Peeta chuckles lowly, and I can't even express how utterly content I feel. "That's all I can ask for."

…

A/N: What did you think? Too hot? Not hot enough? Don't forget reviewers get a chapter 6 sneak peek so let me know!


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N**: Aaaahh super long chapter! I hope you like:) Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, I'm pretty sure I got back to anyone who left one and had their PM feature on (if you haven't been getting the sneak peeks, I make it a point to take time out of my day and reply to every review, which can get overwhelming but it's totally worth it! So if you've been expecting those snippets and haven't gotten any, make sure your PM feature is on!) I haven't put a disclaimer up in I don't think ever so here it is: I don't own any part of The Hunger Games at all, whatsoever.

Btw college algebra sucks. I've put it off as long as I can and am seriously regretting that decision. Aka fml aka chapters may take longer to be up, but they will get up (especially if you keep those lovely reviews coming!)

…

Peeta and I walk hand-in-hand towards the town later the next morning. Few people are up and out, as it is still fairly early for most of the residents, and I prefer it that way. I take a deep breath of the crisp, early autumn air, which can finally be enjoyed now that the omnipresent coal dust is gone from the atmosphere. I point this out to Peeta, and he hums in agreement, squeezing my hand as a few silent memories of what our home used to be pass through both our minds. I sigh and curl the hand of my other arm around his elbow, resting my head on his shoulder as we continue to stroll down the barely-there path.

"You okay?" he asks softly, kissing the top of my hair. I nod, and my answer is the truth. There's not much I miss about the oppressive, sooty place I used to live, where everything from the walls to people's spirits had a gray tinge to it. I still avoid the Seam at all costs, but the reconstruction of the town square as well as the rumored plans of the new medicine factory is all signs of moving forward. One day I'll be able to face those demons, but right now I just can't; it would be too much, even with Peeta's support.

Suddenly we are standing in front of the bakery, and Peeta is completely still next to me.

"Were you sad when you saw what had happened to the bakery?" I ask.

"Very," he says, looking at the ground for a moment as he gathers his thoughts. "I mean, it was my home as well. Everything I knew was just… gone. All my paintings, my personal keepsakes, my family and friends; it was just suddenly nonexistent. For someone whose memories were shaky at best, returning to find everything I thought I remembered utterly destroyed was definitely a blow. It was awful."

Peeta finishes his speech and looks down at me sadly. I stand on my tiptoes and kiss his cheek gently, his skin cool and flushed from the brisk wind. When I pull back we continue to look at each other for a moment. There are no tears in those perfect eyes, but I can tell he's reminiscing what he can, and it physically pains me to see firsthand only a margin of what he himself has had to go through.

With no warning Peeta leans down and kisses me softly. It's a single press of our lips, but it feels like so much more; his warm breath fans over my face as he sighs, holding the simple kiss for a long, tender moment before removing his lips from mine. I miss his touch immediately, but he makes up for it by quietly telling me, "I love you."

"I love you, too," I say, bringing him down for another one of those simple, comforting kisses.

He pulls away and nuzzles his nose in my neck. "Ready to see?" he asks into my skin.

I nod and kiss his hair before squeezing his arm that is still captured in my own, and he leads us around the side of the building. "Are we going through the back?"

Peeta nods. "Yeah. I want to save the front for last, if that's okay with you."

"Whatever you want," I reassure.

We walk up the back steps and he unlocks the door with a shiny new key. He lets me in first, but I pull him by the hand to follow me. He flicks on a light switch, and I see that we're standing in a coatroom of sorts, with a tiny bathroom in one corner and shelves organized with extra stock in the other.

"I'd offer to take your coat, but you'll probably want it," Peeta says, unbuttoning his own jacket. "I haven't bothered turning the heat on yet. There's no point." He's wearing a wool sweater underneath it, so he hangs the jacket on the coatrack. He's right about me, though; in the chilly building, my own thin long sleeve t-shirt definitely warrants keeping the jacket on.

"Okay, Mr. Mellark, give me the grand tour," I say, smiling at him playfully.

He grins back, taking my hand in his again and leading me through a small hallway. "Well, Miss Everdeen, our first stop will be my office, which you can see just here on the left."

I peek inside and find that the room is a beautiful shade of orange – Peeta's sunset orange – that surprisingly works in the space. On the walls are a couple of beautiful landscape paintings, created by Peeta, of course. A small wardrobe sits in the back corner, no doubt housing a change of clothes and emergency supplies. A handsome chestnut desk faces the doorway, behind it a big, brown leather chair. On top of the desk are a computer, a large desk calendar, some pens and pencils, and a picture frame, though I can't see the picture inside it.

"Plutarch gave me the computer," he explains. "I don't have a clue how to use it, but he said it would make ordering supplies and organizing stock and costs and stuff faster and easier." I can sense the hesitancy in his voice; we are both still wary of any technology, especially coming from the Capitol, but for the most part I trust Plutarch.

I nod my understanding. "What's in the frame?" I ask, genuinely curious. I'm almost sure he doesn't have any photographs of his family left, and neither of us owns a camera.

Peeta blushes slightly and ducks his head, scratching his neck where his golden curls tickle his skin. "Well, I was hoping that, um… we could maybe have Haymitch take one. Of us. Just so I can be reminded of what I get to come home to every day, no matter what kind of day I might be having."

He's so sweet and impossibly adorable when he gets all shy like this. I like shy Peeta; I don't get to see him very often, as Peeta is normally fairly outgoing and almost always well-spoken. It's a side to him only I can bring out, and only I can see.

At the same time, however, I'm a little unsure. I don't necessarily have a _fear_ of cameras, but rather I despise them and everything they remind me of. Peeta's eyes meet mine again and I can't tell if the worry in his them is from having the same thoughts that I am, or simply anticipating a negative response from me.

Those eyes will be the end of me. He's not even trying to convince me and I'm already just giving in. "Fine," I sigh, "but only because it's for you and you only."

Peeta's eyes light up and he smiles, ducking to kiss me for the third time since we left the house. "Thank you," he murmurs against my lips.

I hum my reply and wrap my fingers in his hair, keeping our mouths connected for a while longer. I finally force myself to break away from him when I feel his tongue brushing against my lips. "Nu-uh. You're going to show me this place today if it means no more kisses until you do!" I threaten playfully.

Peeta chuckles in response and leads me down the short rest of the hall, until we reach another door. "And here, we have the kitchen," he announces, pushing open the door for me and flipping on another light switch.

Having never seen the kitchen of the old bakery, I don't know what to compare it to, but what I see before me is magnificent. One wall is entirely exposed brick, giving the space an old, homey feel, and the rest of the walls are a pale yellow. All of the equipment is shiny and new, with the exception of the black wood-burning oven, which takes up part of the brick wall. There are also several large silver tables on wheels, carts of cooling racks, and towards the front is a door that I can only assume is the walk-in fridge.

"This looks great, Peeta!" I say ardently, looking all around me. I can just imagine him back here creating the beautiful cakes and pastries that he has such a special knack for.

"Thanks," he says. "It'll take some getting used to, but I'm proud of it."

I nod and take his hand. "Can we see the front now?"

"Of course," he replies, squeezing my fingers gently. We start to walk but he hesitates only after a couple of steps.

"What's wrong?" I ask, my eyebrows coming together in worry and confusion.

"Nothing, I just… I hope you like it, Katniss."

He leaves it at that, takes a deep breath, and leads me through one more door. As soon as we are past it, he turns on another light switch, and I can't help but gasp as soon as my eyes take everything in.

It doesn't look anything like the old bakery, no longer run-down and dingy. In front of us is the counter, which is made out of a shiny, light-colored stone with flecks of brown and other almost imperceptible colors. On top of it sits the brand new register, which looks much more efficient than the old one, and to the right of that is a display case that will eventually house cookies and smaller pastries for sale. There are even a couple of small, matching wicker tables and chairs by the front door that go well with the calming, natural shade of pale green on the walls, as well as the light-colored wood floor.

But none of these things compare to the display case in the front, the one that advertises the nostalgic pies and pretty iced cakes. The ones Prim always loved to look at. My eyes are already tearing up a bit at the simple fixture, and then I notice a painting on the western wall depicting almost identically the scene I had just been playing in my head. Only this is better, so much better. The painting shows a little girl with long, beautiful blond hair with her hands plastered to the window of the bakery, admiring those baked goods through the glass. The back of her shirt is even coming un-tucked from her skirt, and this more than confirms who is in the picture.

Peeta has perfectly captured an image that I will likely never forget; only he has made it positive rather than pitiful. Even though the girl's clothes are too big, it's as if she's playing dress up and not that she's wearing hand-me-downs out of necessity. The lighting in the painting is also brighter and clearer, the grayish color that it was in reality completely gone; the colors of the icing are more pronounced, the leaves of the tree hanging down in front of the building seem to move with the wind, and her golden hair shines in the sun. It's nothing short of perfect.

My mouth is still slightly agape when I turn back to look at him, and he looks back nervously. "Do you like it?" he asks, and I know he hasn't really been talking about the entire bakery so much as this one area, where I have some of my fondest memories of Prim.

"I love it," I whisper, wrapping my arms around his waist and burying my face into his chest. I can't even describe to him how wonderful this is, how wonderful _he_ is for thinking of and remembering those days. "It's completely perfect. I love it. I love you."

Peeta's arms reciprocate, folding around my own body, and he presses a prolonged kiss to the top of my head, sighing contentedly. "I love you too. And I'm glad you like it." We hold each other for a few more moments, and then he squeezes me gently and pulls away, offering me his arm. "Ready to go home?"

I take his arm, but I lead us to the painting, just to see it closer. Without thinking, my fingers reach out to ever so softly brush against the canvas, just to see if I can _feel_ her. It sounds ridiculous even in my own head, but seeing her like this, it gives me a new sense of hope in all sorts of ways. And maybe it's my insane side rearing its head once again, but I swear in the two seconds that my fingertips lingered on her portrait, I could feel her soft blonde hair in my fingers as I braided the thick strands, like I did thousands of times over the years.

I can't stop the sob that escapes my throat unexpectedly, and I turn back into his arms and cry; for once the tears I shed for my sister are not driven completely from sorrow, but now a tiny bit of closure, as well as that ever-important emotion that is all I have left – hope. Peeta just strokes my hair and lets me bawl, rocking me back and forth.

I don't know how long we stand there, but when I finally calm down enough to wipe my eyes and my nose, I grab Peeta's cheeks and pull him to me for a long, lingering kiss. "Thank you," I mutter hoarsely, wrapping my arms around his neck for a brief hug. Peeta smiles and kisses my forehead before leading me to the back room to get my jacket.

He locks up and together we walk back to the Victor's Village, enjoying the sunny, brisk afternoon with the only person we each want to be with.

I make chili for dinner that night, an ancient, simple recipe I found in one of Peeta's cookbooks. The warm spices and hearty meat will make for a more than impeccable meal for the rather cold day. I send Peeta over to invite Haymitch for dinner, and though he comes back with an inconclusive reply, judging by the fact that he doesn't come home reeking of alcohol I assume that we'll have company tonight.

A little while later Peeta is standing behind me with his arms wrapped around my middle, placing innocent pecks to my shoulder and neck. I love when he holds me like this, when I can wrap all of my senses around him. I'm ladling some of the thick red broth into our bowls when the back door crashes open in a manner only Haymitch can manage. He stumbles into the kitchen looking clean but disheveled and with a mostly-full bottle of liquor in his hand.

He observes our embrace with a funny expression before taking a hearty swig of the clear liquid. "If it isn't the local lovebirds!" he practically yells once he lowers the bottle, opening his arms out as if presenting us to an invisible audience. He's definitely on the way to being tipsy, if he isn't there already. Peeta squeezes me and plants a kiss on my cheek before releasing me from his arms, and I am suddenly regretting inviting Haymitch. The man in question rolls his eyes at our display of affection, but I can see a hint of a genuine smile behind his cynic words.

We sit down at the table with our steaming bowls and begin to eat in comfortable silence. Haymitch is surprisingly light on the alcohol tonight, taking minimal shots and instead sipping on a full glass of water.

"So Mr. Baker here tells me you have something to ask?" Haymitch questions, cursing when he spills a hot bite of chili down his front as he attempts to put the spoon in his mouth. I snort, but even Haymitch's unintentional comedy can't stop the unreasonable pit of nervousness in my stomach.

"It's not a big deal," I mutter, taking a bite of my own meal and make a point of chewing the chunk of meat and vegetables. I glance at Peeta and glare at him, wondering why he didn't just ask for himself earlier.

Peeta just shrugs and I'm not really sure what that's supposed to mean, but he comes to my rescue either way. "We want a picture of the two of us, and were hoping you could take one. I know you have a camera; I found one under a blanket of all places when I was looking for your drunk ass the other day at your house."

Haymitch looks surprised but rolls his eyes at Peeta's dry remark. "You have a camera?" I ask, genuinely shocked that our former mentor would own such a piece of technology; he hates cameras as much as we do.

Haymitch grunts and shrugs, successfully spooning himself a bite of broth this time. "That doctor of yours got his hands on my number, courtesy of Effie. He seems to think that maybe taking pictures will help me 'see life through new eyes', whatever the fuck that means. Apparently it might help me kick the bottle. Sounds like a load of crap to me."

There's a short pause before I decide to speak. "I had my doubts about him too, Haymitch. But… everything he's suggested to Peeta and me has helped us so much. Maybe, if you give what he says a chance, it will help you, too."

This is the most civil and compassionate I think I've ever been to Haymitch. He looks truly conflicted, stubborn enough to maybe want to continue with his ways or quit completely on his own – I can't tell which. But I can also see the physical toll that years of overdrinking has taken on him; he has to be miserable all the time, either with a massive headache or an upset stomach. I remember one of my mother's patients who looked fairly normal, but wouldn't wake for several hours; she had said it was from alcohol poisoning – they nearly drank themselves to death.

I swear I'll never admit it aloud, but I'm actually afraid that that will happen to Haymitch one day. No matter how much we grate on each other's nerves, I truly care for him, and I know he cares for us equally as much.

Peeta picks up where I've left off. "Please just try, Haymitch… for us." His eyes are big, blue and pleading, and looking right into Haymitch's weary gray ones.

Haymitch throws his head in his hands and groans. "Fine," he growls, taking another bite petulantly. I can't help but smirk. "But I'm not taking some fancy posed picture of you two; you've had enough of that to last a lifetime. It'll be a big old surprise when I do it."

I can live with that. In fact, as I sit there and ponder the idea, it grows on me. Capturing an organic picture of Peeta and me together sounds infinitely better than plastering fake smiles for a few uncomfortable moments. I look at Peeta to make sure he's okay with it too, and his smile is all the answer I need. "Deal," I say.

Dinner proceeds without much more conversation, and Haymitch leaves half an hour not even drunk, merely considerably tipsy. Peeta and I clean up before heading upstairs to get ready for bed.

"I think I'll take a bath tonight," I tell him, sitting on the edge of the bed to pull my boots off.

"M-kay," he says, lying back on the bed and removing his own shoes and socks.

I go into the bathroom and close the double doors behind me. I fix the taps to the perfect temperature and pour in some lavender-vanilla bath foam. The bubbles explode in the water at once, and I let the water rise to the maximum height before undoing my braid and stripping.

I'm about to step into the hot water when a little voice suddenly pops into my head. _Bring Peeta_, it says, and I don't know what to make of it. He has seen me naked, more than seen, really, but this has always been my personal quiet time. I would be lying if I said the idea wasn't appealing, however.

_One night won't hurt_, the voice urges. _Go get him_.

I take a deep breath and cross the room to open the doors, trying to make myself look seductive. I suddenly wish my hair was long enough to cover my breasts, even just a little, but it still comes just past my shoulders. Peeta has his eyes closed, but upon hearing the doors click he opens them, the blue orbs widening as he takes in my naked form.

"W-would you care to join me?" I ask quietly, biting my lower lip nervously. He's staring at me in that way he did last night, bringing with it the same mixed emotions inside me; butterflies explode in my stomach, but heat pools between my legs. I feel myself blush from both my arousal and embarrassment. "Peeta?"

His name seems to bring him out of his trance, and he hops off the bed without another word. I giggle and turn back into the bathroom, closing the doors. By the time he reopens the bathroom doors I'm already sinking into the perfectly hot water, the sweet yet natural aromas of the bubbles further sinking me into bliss. I watch him shut the doors again and he looks at me sitting in the tub, body hidden by the mass of white foam.

"Well aren't you getting in?" I ask rhetorically, smiling at him playfully.

Peeta laughs and he grabs the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his mess of curls and tossing it on the floor alongside my own. I can't help but bite my lip again in admiration, my eyes zeroing in on the diagonal lines between his hips and torso; it might be one of my favorite parts of his body, one of many, of course. I wish he was standing closer to me so I could trace the indentations with my finger. His own fingers go to the button of his jeans, pulling down the zipper as well before he shoves them down his hips, kicking them aside once they're pooled at his feet.

The only item left are his boxers, and even though my blush deepens I refuse to look away from him. He tugs them down finally and I chance a glance. He's half hard, but still impressive, and I grin impishly at him before he steps into the water and settles behind me, sighing in pleasure as the hot water surrounds him.

"You strip for me next time," Peeta murmurs into my ear once he's settle me between his legs and against his chest.

I laugh and bring one of his hands from my stomach to kiss his fingertips. "We'll see."

It's Peeta's turn to laugh and he takes his hand out of mine, moving it to cup my breast. I can't stop my soft moan as he kneads the flesh gently, brushing his thumb over my nipple and making it become a hard nub almost immediately.

Out of nowhere I remember my thought from last night, and as much as I don't want to stop this, the thought has suddenly penetrated my mind and I can barely concentrate on what his hands are doing to me anymore. "Peeta," I say, trying to keep the pleasured rasp out of my voice.

He senses my hesitation and stops. I turn in his arms and sit sideways in his lap, so I can look him in the eye, placing my hands on his chest. "What's wrong?" he asks, his eyebrows knitted in confusion.

I look down, not really wanting to see his face when I ask this. "I-I'm sorry. I just… I have to know. Have you, um, done this before?"

"Katniss," he murmurs, and I bring my eyes to his again. His guilty expression gives him away like there's a sign telling me the answer in writing.

"Who?" I ask, ducking my head once more. I shouldn't care; what's in the past is just that. But I have this sort of morbid curiosity to hear him say her name.

"Katniss, listen," he says more assertively, cupping my chin and forcing me to look at him. His eyes are hard and pleading at the same time, and I can feel my eyes water as I anticipate what he might tell me next. "I've never had sex." My gasp of surprise escapes my throat before I can stop it.

"But – " I start, not even knowing where to begin with questions. He saves me the trouble by cutting me off with a finger over my lips.

"Let me tell you this all at once. You need to know, and I need to tell you," he says, moving the hand that had been covering my mouth to stroke my hair. "Just… promise me you won't get very mad. We agreed that we need to be honest with each other, and this is me being honest. Try and remember that I love you and you only."

I simply nod. Peeta sighs and takes my hands in his, kissing the back of each of them. He keeps them in his tight grasp as he continues. "Like I said, I've never had sex. Close to it, but never all the way. Before the games, I had only just kissed a couple girls – definitely nothing more than a sloppy make-out session behind the bakery or school." He pauses and looks down, and I can sense the part that he fears saying most is coming up. "When we got home, after the games and the Victory Tour, I wanted nothing more than to be with you. When you made it clear you felt the opposite, going so far as to start… whatever that was with Gale, I was crushed. I was angry. Really angry, actually."

I don't say anything. I knew all of those things already, but it doesn't stop the crushing feeling in my chest as he admits it all out loud, at once.

"I had no earthly idea why, but for some reason, I still loved you. I think at that time, though, I was more furious and disappointed than in love. I started… messing around with Bailee Procter," he admits.

I feel myself deflate slightly. Bailee Procter was nearly three years older than us, and as her large, perky breasts, round hips, and long pin-straight blonde hair indicated, was the daughter of a merchant; the daughter of the tailors, to be exact. She had big, light brown eyes, full lips and overall beauty that was undeniable to anyone. I only vaguely knew her from school when we went during the same years, but as far as I knew she was very social and nice, never mean or demeaning to anyone despite her good looks and clothes that were just a little nicer than most others'.

In other words, she was everything I wasn't then, and most everything I'm not now.

Peeta sighs as he watches me take this all in, but he's not through. "We got each other off a lot, in just about every way but sex. It was a release to both be pleasured and to also know that someone wanted me that way. I was attracted to her, for sure. But I couldn't help but think of our kiss in the cave. As amazing as it felt when she did those things to me, it was like they didn't compare to your kisses. I think she realized it eventually, when we had been going at it for a couple of months. She wanted more, and I just… couldn't. Because of you."

I let all of this sink in, and something inside my chest and stomach twinges uncomfortably. I don't feel sad. I have no justification to be angry with him. He didn't do anything I didn't (to a certain extent, obviously) and it was absolutely true that I had made it very clear that I wanted almost nothing to do with him at that time. Instead, I realize what I feel is pure, unadulterated jealousy. I regret treating him that way, especially looking at all of this in hindsight.

I surprise him by crashing my lips to his, our lips meshing and tongues tangling wildly. I pull away, our breathing rough and uneven. "I'm so sorry," I say, kissing him with equal passion as the last. "I'm yours now. I want you, and only you."

Peeta sighs against my lips, threading his fingers into my hair and bringing our lips together once more, and our intensity lowers as he slows the kiss to a simple press and slide of our mouths. This time he pulls back first, but keeps our foreheads touching. "Thank you for understanding," he whispers, wrapping his arms around me tightly.

I shake my head, wrapping my arms around his neck and resting my head in the crook of his neck. "Thank _you_. For not giving up on me."

Peeta kisses my forehead and strokes my sides under the water. "You're welcome, baby."

I smile into his skin, and my fingers start to play with the hair that is curling against his neck. "I like when you call me that," I tell him quietly. Who would have thought I'd be one for pet names, much less one so saccharine.

"Good," he says, "because I like calling you it."

I chuckle and move my left hand under the water to stroke his side, from ribs to hip. He sighs and nuzzles his nose in my hair. "Do you need a nickname?" I tease, tickling him on that spot right below his ribs. "I could call you 'baby' too, you know."

As anticipated he squirms, and I can't help but giggle. "Only if you really want to. Just Peeta is fine with me," he assures, smiling down at me.

I smile back and lean up to meet his lips with mine for a short peck. "You're my Peeta," I tell him, stroking his jaw, his stubble tickling my fingertips.

He holds my hand to his cheek. "That's all I'll ever need to be."

…

**A/N**: So it was fluffy, it was emotional, it was a little sexy… What you think? Anyone have any good pet names? I personally hate them, but I know some people with, er, _creative_ ones. Also do you like getting sneak peeks? I'm going to start doing them on request because I only have so much time and can't send so much of the same message through the PM thing at once because it thinks it's spam. Let me know if you do want one though:)


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N**: Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, there were so many and it was amazing! I'm super sorry this chapter has taken so long, but writing time has been hard to come by between school and work and family. It's not my favorite so far, but it serves a purpose as far as plot summary, because it was getting pretty fluff-tastic there for a while with little else (but I personally like those stories, so maybe that's why I write little conflict in my own), and it's pretty long, so maybe that makes up for a little bit as well. Either way, here it is, please review!

I also have no idea when a) the rebellion happened in terms of seasons/months or b) Katniss' father died, and frankly I don't have enough time to find out the exact details. So just go with it, if you will.

P.S. in case you didn't see in the last A/N sneak peeks are now by request only, so let me know in a review if you want one.

…

The slight vibration from the quiver of my bowstring is the first thing I hear before the piercing sound of the arrow meeting the eye of a rabbit. I smile in satisfaction at my clean kill as well as the prospect of rabbit stew for dinner tonight. I retrieve the animal and clean my arrow before moving on a little further down the path in search of some squirrels for Sae.

I can't help but take a deep breath of the clean, fresh air as I trek through the woods on this crisp Autumn morning; it smells like dirt and leaves, and between the familiar scent and the halo of orange and red around me, I feel like I'm in my own personal paradise. I cherish the scenery while I can, as it will be winter soon enough, and the trees will be bare. This is truly my home, and the tiny smile never leaves my face as I realize how _relieved_ I am to be here. I never thought the woods would look the same again after the Games, and in some ways it is different. But those differences are more from my heart than my brain.

Over the years I've mastered the art of silence when walking over the mix of dead, crunchy leaves and the fallen vibrant ones that blanket the forest floor. Part of me still expects to hear the almost imperceptible sound of a twig snapping under Gale's heavy brown boot, his grin only to be met with my playful scowl. He always knew how much it irritated me when he disturbed the quiet I was so good at achieving, but his teasing was almost always good-natured.

It would be a lie to say I don't miss him. There are just some things about Gale that Peeta will never quite understand, that he will never fill with Gale's absence. I miss Gale's presence here with me, working with me side-by-side; I miss discussing the essentials of surviving out here, having friendly competitions over who could score the biggest kill. It pains me to admit it even to myself, but one of the things I miss most is his hands, big and calloused and reassuring. My fingers clench involuntarily as I imagine his own warm ones enclosing mine in what was almost always our only gesture of comfort for one another.

I don't want him romantically. I simply wish so many things hadn't happened.

Aside from my incomparable love for Peeta, the one other thing that reassures me of this is that when I think of Gale, it's only in the woods; he doesn't exist outside of here, either in my everyday thoughts or in my occasional desire for him to be here in Twelve.

I spot a rather large squirrel and set my bag down, reaching for an arrow to load into my bow. I line up the shot and release.

It strikes through the neck.

Rather stunned, I try to remember the last time I hadn't shot such an easy target straight through the eye. It has to have been years, because I literally can't think of such an occasion. My thoughts of Gale turn irritated rather than nostalgic. If he had just been rational and forgone that awful bomb plan, he _would_ be here rather than distracting me in my daydreams.

That in itself is the problem; he will be forever associated with Prim in my mind. If I ever see him again, I'm not sure how long I'll be able to stand his presence without completely breaking down. Which brings up an entire issue on its own.

I can't say for Gale, but I think something within Peeta tells him the only reason I chose him was because of the whole fiasco with the bombs, and that Gale might have unwittingly killed my sister. Once not too long ago when he asked how I was handling the woods, I admitted that I missed hunting with Gale. He tried to hide it, but I could see the insecurity in his eyes. It pained my heart to see that, but I tried to reassure him as much as I could by telling him how much I love him, and how he balances me out so perfectly, something Gale could never do.

I shake my head and collect the squirrel, knowing I will have to give up my rabbit to Sae because of my poor aim. I can't be here any longer; thinking of Gale is consuming my head and being here in the perfect quiet won't help quell those thoughts. Needless to say I'm eager to see Peeta.

I've just flung the front door open when I hear the phone ringing shrilly throughout the otherwise silent house. Peeta has been at work since the early morning and I myself have been in the woods since sunrise. I've hurried home as quickly as I could after dropping off the rabbit and picking up some fresh vegetables; I need to get lunch started quickly for Peeta before he gets home at noon. I like to have everything ready for him by the time he gets here (even though over half the time it gets abandoned as we distract ourselves with an afternoon make-out.)

Frustrated by the distraction but knowing I should answer it, I set my bag in the sink and hurry to get the call.

"Hello?" I answer, the huff in my voice not hidden in the slightest. Hopefully that will be a clear indication that I don't want to talk without having to say it outright.

The responding voice tells me that won't be the case. "Katniss, my dear! How are you?"

I roll my eyes and sink to the couch, and my stomach fizzles into knots as thoughts of what he might be calling about invade my head. "Just dandy, Plutarch. And yourself?"

"Oh, I'm doing splendid," he says, his tone upbeat if not jovial. "I hope I'm not interrupting an early lunch. Do you have time to speak?"

I twist my fingers nervously around themselves. "That depends. What about?"

Plutarch gives a small chuckle. "Feisty as ever, I see." He pauses, as if expecting me to chime in on my own hesitancy. When he realizes I have nothing to say, he continues, his voice more resigned than anything now. "Let's just get this out on the table, then, shall we? Katniss, I – I realize what I must ask may be inconsiderate, but my orders come from the president herself. Do you know where I might be going with this?"

I don't do anything except try to control my breathing. I know exactly "where he's going with this." The only thing that makes it microscopically better is that I can tell by his tone that he is against it; Plutarch may be an irritating, gloating man, but he would not ask this of me, not so soon. I swallow the lump in my throat, brought on by both raw emotion and anger, with difficulty before answering. "I think I can guess."'

I hear him sigh heavily. "I'm very sorry, Katniss, but I'm to urge you to consider this mandatory. We just need you and Peeta in the Capitol for two, three days max. President Paylor would like for you two to do a couple of publicity stunts for the one-year anniversary of the rebellion. All that is required of you is to attend a dinner and a ceremony held in your honor. We ask that at least one of you speak. It doesn't have to be a grand speech, but a few words to encourage rebuilding are all it would take."

Does it ever stop? As soon as I – _we_ – start to heal, our deep, emotional scars finally beginning to fade even the smallest amount, we're being practically forced to go back to the place that gave us our wounds to begin with. I do my best to keep the emotion out of my voice, but I don't hide my anger. "Has she even thought of what it might do to us?" I ask, knowing he probably can't give me a straight answer. I want her to know how much I despise this plan, though, so I don't hold back. "How often will these 'mandatory' appearances come up, Plutarch? What if seeing that awful place ruins all the progress we've made, especially Peeta? She doesn't know the half of it, that woman!"

Plutarch lets me rant, and only speaks when I have finished. "I've consulted with Dr. Aurelius, and while he doesn't agree with forcing you to come, he feels you are both stable enough to handle it for a short amount of time. He would also like to take this opportunity for a practical exam of the two of you. On that note, you can thank him when you see him, because if not for him your stay would have been much longer."

I let this process, but it does little to cool my temper. I wish Peeta were here; he would know the right questions to ask, how to handle this rationally. "How can she make this mandatory, anyways? We live in a free nation now. We can always refuse."

He hesitates. "The president has already announced the date you will be attending this morning. Everyone is expecting you in a month's time."

It takes all I have not to slam the phone closed and be done with this conversation. I am perfectly content here with Peeta, without confronting the rest of the nation anymore. A _month_. A month is no time at all. I only have a month to prepare myself for this.

My fury reaches new levels, now directed at Plutarch himself. "You're the Secretary of Communications, Plutarch! Couldn't you have said this wasn't the right time for this? You know what we went through, what we're _going_ through! You saw it with your own eyes."

"What excuse could I have possibly used, Katniss?" he fires back. His voice is hard, but not angry. "What you've both been through is utterly traumatic on a level that virtually no one else can comprehend; both the president and I understand that. But it's been a year since our entire nation was turned upside down, and people are still at a loss for what to do next, trying to cope with everything that's happened just as you are. A familiar face of hope and strength will set the rebuilding of Panem off to the best start possible. As for how often you will do this, only time can really tell. At this point the best case scenario is that we won't even touch on this conversation for another four years."

Despite his reasoning, I'm still furious. Paylor has been a good president so far, but I think it's completely ridiculous that I still have to be the Mockingjay. There seems to be nothing I can do about it, though. I let the idea of refusing to show up mull in the back of my mind, but even my frustrations with the situation don't block the shortcomings this could cause for my otherwise undisturbed life.

"Fine," I say shortly. "Just be sure to know that Peeta won't be any less upset about this than I am."

"Thank you, Katniss," Plutarch says sincerely. "Haymitch tells me that you and Peeta are on very good terms, so I trust you can pass this along. Give my best to him. I'll see you in the Capitol in a month."

I hang up.

As if my troubles this morning weren't distractive enough, now I have this to deal with. I take my frustrations out on the squirrel as I skin and gut it in the backyard. _Hopefully Peeta takes this better than I am_, I think as I scrub my hands clean of the blood.

I dispose of the remains of the squirrel and cube the most tender cuts of meat, salt-and-pepper them, and throw the pieces into the skillet to brown. While that cooks, I chop all sorts of leafy greens, onions, peppers, and baby tomatoes hurriedly before tossing everything together with some light oil, and run upstairs to change. I pull on a soft, cozy sweater, fitted jeans, and clean, warm socks and make my way back to the kitchen to set the table. I even pile my hair in a messy bun on top of my head after deeming it too stringy to leave down.

I've just set the salad in the middle of the table when I hear Peeta come through the front door. He smiles when he sees me and makes a beeline for where I stand after tossing down a loaf of bread next to the salad. He grips my waist and pulls me close for a sweet, chaste kiss before nuzzling his nose into the warm skin of my neck.

"Well, hello to you, too," I tease, wrapping my arms around his waist to return his embrace.

"You look adorable," he says quietly, gently nipping there playfully. I blush, but quietly thank him and move my arms to around his neck as he starts to trail wet kisses up to my jaw and behind my ear. I feel my head tilt to the side to allow him more room to continue, and I flush even more with embarrassment when I moan at the feeling of his lips tugging on my earlobe. "I love coming home to you."

"You've domesticated me," I joke breathlessly, and he chuckles before bringing his mouth to mine. I feel his sigh against my lips and I release one of my own. I can sense all the tension of the day start to trickle off my shoulders just from his simple touch, and I can't help but attempt to pull him even closer. I trail my hand under his shirt and jacket, grinning when he gasps at the difference in temperature of my cold hand against his warm back.

I reach my tongue out to graze against his lips, and he opens for me readily, his warm tongue sliding alongside mine for a deep, comforting kiss. My hand moves from his back, around to his hip, and I let my thumb dip into his waistband to run along the left side of that 'v' that leads to his pelvis. Peeta gives a low rumble from the back of his throat and with no warning he lifts me onto the table, bringing my legs around his waist and deepening our already heated kiss. Feeling adventurous, I flex my hips up to grind against him, and now his soft groan is unmistakable as he pushes back into me.

The sudden whistling of the tea kettle startles me and I pry my lips away from his, gasping for breath. Peeta looks at me with nothing but love and desire, sending a shiver down my spine and straight to my core, and I have to fight back a moan. "I should get that."

"And then you come right back to me," he growls as I gently push him off of me, the lust evident in his voice as well.

I shake my head as I take the pot off the heat of the stove and set it on the table. "As much as I want to, we need to talk; I have… news."

"News?" he asks warily, plopping into his chair unceremoniously. "What kind of news?"

I take the seat across from him and throw some tongs into the salad. "From Plutarch…"

Peeta sighs and runs a hand through his hair, a nervous habit of his. "What did he say? Do I even want to know?"

"Probably not, but you don't have a choice," I say, helping myself to the salad and a piece of bread. He frowns as he gives himself a large portion and takes a crunchy bite, waiting for me to continue. At this point I honestly have no clue how he will react to this, whether he will handle it calmly or become angry as I did. Either way I know he won't be happy about it. I take a deep breath. "We've been summoned to the Capitol in a month for dinner and a ceremony in honor of the rebellion's one-year anniversary; also, we have an appointment with Dr. Aurelius."

He doesn't say anything, but pours some hot water into his teacup and dunks a teabag in it; he doesn't look at me either. "Peeta?"

"Has it really been a year?" he says quietly, fidgeting with some lettuce in his bowl. "It seems like only yesterday."

I reach across the table and rest my hand over his, and he threads our fingers together, squeezing gently. "I know." We're silent for a few moments, and I can tell he's getting lost in his own thoughts by the distant look in his eyes. "Are you angry?" I ask quietly.

Peeta gives a small shrug and tugs on my hand. I follow his unspoken request and move to stand next to him, keeping our hands connected as I do so. He pulls me to sit in his lap and wraps his arms around my waist, locking me against him. I link my own arm around his neck and the other rests on his forearm, stroking the skin above his elbow softly.

"Part of me is angry," he answers after a minute or so. "Part of me expected it, though, so I've been preparing for the worst but hoping for the best, really. It still doesn't help that much. The thought of going back is just…"

He trails off, but I know exactly what he means. "Unthinkable," I finish for him, kissing his forehead gently.

"Yes," he whispers, leaning into me. "What if… what if it causes a flashback? What if it makes you have a really bad day again? I can hardly bear to see you like that, and we've been doing so well. With our health and _us_ both."

"We have, Peeta," I reassure, and I hug him to me tight. "Plutarch said that he talked with Dr. Aurelius, though, and he says we'll be fine for the amount of time they've scheduled. It's just two days, Peeta. We can do it, together."

Peeta turns his face into my neck, placing a single, soft kiss there before nuzzling the spot with his nose. "I love you. I'm so glad I have you, you know that, right?"

My heart skips a beat and I can feel myself flush. "I love you too. And I know."

Something in my brain tells me this would be an excellent time to bring up a similar issue with him, about how I chose him for him, and not Gale's mistakes, and how I would be completely and utterly lost without him here with me.

My desire to kiss him becomes much more important than that, though, and so I lean down to connect our lips. My hands thread themselves into his golden curls and pull him as close as I can, our kiss turning from chaste to passionate in a heartbeat.

He rips his lips from mine and they follow the familiar trail down my jaw and trace across the shell of my ear, where he growls, "I want you for lunch."

At that moment his stomach rumbles loudly and I can't help but actually laugh. "Your stomach says otherwise," I tell him, patting his abdomen lightly. My smile broadens when I feel his muscles contract underneath my hand.

Even he can't stop the grin from spreading over his face. I can feel it against my neck when he responds, "Yeah, well there's another, more _insistent_ body part that begs to differ."

"Hmm, and that part wouldn't happen to be right _here_, would it?" I tease, snaking my hand further between us and running my fingers over the hard bulge beneath the zipper of his jeans. I don't know what's gotten into me today; I'm never this bold on occasions such as this where we delve past kissing, always letting him take the lead. At the contact he groans, and the fact that I'm taking the initiative this time seems to have turned him on even more.

"That might be it," he forces out. I feel his hand slip underneath my shirt and stroke my side in smooth up-and-down movements, his hand getting higher with each sweep of his big, warm hand. It finally makes it to the side of my breast, and his fingers find my nipple through the thin lace of my bra. I gasp and he smiles, leaning up to bring our lips together once again, our tongues meeting immediately.

"Oh for the love of all things holy!" someone shouts behind us, stomping back into the living room. How Haymitch of all people snuck up on us, I have no idea, but I'm suddenly furious and mortified at the same time, not a good combination for me.

"Haymitch, what the hell are you doing here? And since when do you let yourself in?" I yell, shoving Peeta's hand from underneath my shirt and standing up. I'm blushing furiously and I throw myself into my own chair again, hiding my reddened face in my hands. When I peek through my fingers, Peeta is laughing a bit, but he at least has the good grace to be just an almost undetectable shade of pink.

"It's not funny!" I mumble, giving him my best death glare. He still just grins.

"Is it safe?" Haymitch asks, and he reappears in the kitchen with one hand over his eyes and the other reached out in front of him as he blindly makes his way to the table.

"_Yes_," I say, rolling my eyes at his antics. Haymitch peeks through his fingers just to make sure before dropping both hands and taking a seat. I take in his clean appearance and clear eyes, and I don't think I've ever in my lifetime seen him look so healthy. I can't help but give another eye-roll, though, when he just helps himself to the lunch I prepared.

I'm about to say something stupid when Peeta speaks what was on my mind just before. "Haymitch, you're looking rather…sober, today."

Our old mentor shrugs and takes a heaping bite of salad. "Don't let a good shower fool you, kid. I'm as hung-over as ever."

"But not drunk," he points out.

Haymitch just shrugs again. "Doesn't mean I wasn't last night. Couldn't take the shakes anymore, went almost two whole days without a single shot," he says, and I can detect a hint of pride in his voice; if I wasn't so irritated with him it would make me smile. "Besides, wouldn't do to 'honor the rebellion' next month wasted out of my mind, would it? Not as an 'example for the rest of the country', anyways," he adds sarcastically, stabbing a tomato with his fork.

"That's what we were just discussing before you barged in," I tell him, not bothering to keep the annoyance out of my voice.

Haymitch rolls his eyes. "Yeah, _discussing_ – that's some pretty incredible nonverbal communication you've got down, then."

Peeta speaks up before I can reply with some smart-ass retort that would no doubt lead to an argument. I honestly don't know what I'd do without him. "We really were, Haymitch. Katniss said Plutarch called her about an hour ago and told her everything." He pauses for a moment, as if debating whether to say something on his mind or not. "And on the subject, don't make us have to start locking our doors."

He ignores Peeta's last comment. "And what did Plutarch tell you?"

I sigh and lean back in my chair, not wanting to relive my earlier conversation anymore. I try to remember everything so I can get it out all at once. "That we have to go to the Capitol in a month to have dinner and give a speech about rebuilding and stuff. Only one of us has to speak, as long as we're both there. We have to see Dr. Aurelius, who cleared us to be there for no more than three days. He also said if we agree to go without trouble, then we more than likely won't have to do another ceremony thing for another four years."

Haymitch stuffs as many chunks of squirrel meat as his fork will hold into his mouth and nods. "Sounds about right," he says around the mouthful.

"And what's your part in this, to show up and not fall off the stage?" I ask derisively, but I'm genuinely curious. In all honesty, I'm glad Haymitch will be going with us. I'll never tell him that.

He scowls at me. "Don't push it, sweetheart." I keep my own frown hard and even, not breaking our eye contact even as I take a bite of salad.

It's Peeta's turn to roll his eyes. "Really, you two, enough with the staring contest. Stop being so petulant," he says, and a moment later I feel his foot run along my calf for good measure. My expression immediately softens a bit at his touch, and I look down at my plate, not really sure how my stubborn nature simply bends to his will. It's entirely strange and foreign and I'm not sure I like it. I do know I love his touch, though, and I want desperately to pull him upstairs now.

I squirm in my seat and meet Peeta's knowing gaze, and my grimace finally breaks into the tiniest smirk for one second when I recognize the desire in his eyes. "Fine, what is Paylor making you do?" I ask, ready for Haymitch to leave now more than ever.

Oblivious, Haymitch thankfully takes his last bite and a sip of tea. "Same as you, mostly, except I'm not seeing doc. I have to stay a little longer than you, though, sort some things out with Effie."

"What kind of things?" I ask immediately.

"Things that don't concern you."

I shrug. "Fine with me."

There are a few silent moments where Haymitch drains his tea and Peeta wolfs down his seconds while I finish my own first bowl. Haymitch sets down his empty cup and leans back in his seat, and I'm about to kick him out when Peeta speaks. "You know, Katniss, this might be a good time to see your mom," he says casually, trying to make a dire situation light and casual, as if my mother and I have a normal relationship. I think I'm looking at him with both anger and as if he's sprouted antlers, because he flushes and looks nervous, running a hand through his hair. He puts his elbow on the table and rests his head in the same hand that was just in his hair, and piddles with his food. "I mean, maybe?"

My scowl is back, and I take a bite before answering carefully. "She knows when I'll be passing by. If she wants me there, she knows my number. I shouldn't have to reach out to her, she's my mother. She should want me there, but since she obviously doesn't, I'm not going to upset her with my presence," I say as calmly and evenly as I can, trying to sound rational rather than the sudden emotional mess I am inside. I realize every ounce of me wants to be the daughter _she_ wants, but I know it's never been me; it was always Prim, and always will be. I'm sure she loves me on a maternal level, but Prim was her baby, the good one of the two of us. Not me.

I'm still her daughter, though.

I'm horrified when I feel tears prickle behind my eyes. I will not cry over my _mother_, the same woman who would let her own children starve before she got out of bed, the same woman who doesn't give enough of a shit about me to even call and see how I'm doing in the aftermath of watching my little sister burn to death. I understand true depression now, but I can't imagine letting my babies starve, leaving an eleven-year old to provide for the family.

I suddenly excuse myself from the table and put my bowl in the sink before heading upstairs. I don't think I'm going to have another dark spell again, but I have to get away, especially from Haymitch; I can't take his snide comments anymore today.

Fighting back the tears, I open the door to our room and sit on the bed, grabbing one of Peeta's pillows and hugging it to my chest. Alone here, it's tempting to let go in the empty silence with no one to judge me or offer words of any kind, because I don't want them. I hate crying, especially over ridiculous things. I tell myself over and over this a ridiculous thing, that I could be so much worse off than having a mother uninterested in my daily life. It's not working too well.

_I will not cry_, I tell myself, _I'm stronger than this_. I am, I am.

I stare out the large window and watch a single crow walk apparently pointlessly along the ground before it flies up into a tree. The stark contrast of the black crow against the vibrancy of the autumnal leaves is striking, and which stands out even more if I look at them in front of the bright blue sky. It's so pretty.

I realize that this is how I perceive my life. Sometimes all I see is the crow, black and alone, and sometimes he has a companion in the leaves, his shelter; but if I step back and realize that with the sky, it all becomes a big picture. I'm not alone, even if I feel like I am at times like these (a symptom, Dr. Aurelius says, of 'abandonment issues.')

My real, true companion knocks on the door and opens it slowly, finding my perched form on the bed. I smile at him and drop the pillow to open my arms out to him.

Peeta smiles softly as well, but it's quick and doesn't reach his eyes. He sits next to me, enveloping me in those strong, warm arms of his, making me feel whole again. "I finally got Haymitch to leave," he says, and his voice is tense. "I'm so sorry I brought that up, it was stupid of me," he mutters, kissing my hair.

I shake my head and push him to lie down, resting my head on its favorite place in the dip of his shoulder once we're on our backs. "It's okay, Peeta. It just…caught me off guard. I haven't thought much of my mom, and you mentioning seeing her brought up some stuff I've needed to face for a while."

"Are you really okay, though? I mean, you looked like you were about to cry down there," he presses, squeezing me to him.

"I wasn't," I say bitingly. "I wasn't," I repeat, more gently this time after feeling his breath hitch at my tone. He hates it probably even more than I do when we argue on the rare occasion. "I'm okay with not seeing her until she wants me to. I don't need her, I never have. Besides, I think you love me enough for the both of you."

His smile is more genuine this time, but it's again fleeting because he doesn't hesitate to bring his lips swiftly to mine for a hard, possessive kiss. "Damn right, I do," he says, nuzzling my hair.

I grin and look up at him, but I can see even from my vantage point that he's scowling. "Are _you_ okay?" I ask, reaching up to stroke his hair. He nods, but I can tell by the lingering tension in his muscles that something is wrong. I lift my head to see him better and rest my palm against his cheek. "Peeta? What's the matter?"

He doesn't answer for a moment, but captures my hand from his cheek in his own, and kisses my fingertips gently. "Your mom might not be the person you have to worry about seeing, Katniss."

I'm more than confused by his words. Something was obviously mentioned to him by Haymitch in my absence, something that's bothering him to the point where his entire mood has changed in the course of ten minutes. "Who, then?"

Peeta's eyes meet mine, and I _know_, I know before he says the name; the name of the person who was plaguing my mind all this morning.

"Gale, Katniss," he murmurs, sighing dejectedly. "Gale will be at the Capitol."

…

**A/N**: I hope I got to everyone who requested a sneak peek; and I apologize again to those who did get them for getting them so late, but you did get it, and that's what counts, right? Don't forget to review!


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N**: So so sorry about the wait for this! It's ridiculously long and literally took me a week to write. I hope the content makes up for both of these things. Please let me know how you feel in either a review, follow or favorite .

Speaking of, thank you so much to everyone who has done just that! I'm sorry I didn't reply to reviews the past couple of times, but please know that they were much appreciated! I'm about to go on vacation to London, so I may or may not get around to it this time, but I will make a conscious effort to! Thank you lovely readers!

…

After much reluctance on my part, Peeta returns to the bakery thirty minutes after his revelation. Haymitch had told him the news a few minutes after I left, claiming even he didn't want to "poke the bear" anymore. I didn't know whether to laugh or scowl at that statement, caught between knowing the truth of that analogy and being highly offended.

And now, lying here by my lonesome without Peeta to hold me, I really don't know what to think anymore, about _everything_.

I force myself out of bed and go downstairs, hoping to clear my head by distracting myself with the mundane task of cleaning the kitchen, only to find Peeta has already done it. I can't help but scowl. That boy does everything for me.

I wander into the living room and begin straightening cushions, carefully dusting Peeta's magnificent paintings that I insisted adorn the walls, vacuuming the rug, anything to keep my mind from thinking of Gale and Prim and the Capitol. It helps, so I move about the large room with a dust rag in one hand and a small stepladder in the other to reach the high arches of the crown molding, door frames, and bookshelves.

Most of the books on the shelves, which are bright white and built in to some of the walls, stretching from the floor to the ceiling, are Peeta's. Any books my family might have possessed before the games have been sold or ruined by the coal dust, where the pages were so grayed and porous the words nearly blended in with the paper behind them.

But there's one book that's withstood the test of time – and starvation – and it is this book that catches my eye immediately. I almost trip over my own feet in my haste to get to the shelf. It's at the very top, and I hope that I can reach it without having to take drastic measures, because I'm not sure I can go all day waiting for Peeta with that important part of my life taunting me from the top shelf of a bookcase.

I haul the ladder to the shelves and climb it hastily, reaching as far as I can until my fingers clasp around the supple, leather spine. At first I just look at my father's plant book with reverence, brushing it with only my fingertips as if it will disappear or ruin if I touch it with anything softer than the weight of a butterfly's kiss. Once I'm certain I'm not imagining finding this, I bring it with me to the couch and clutch the worn leather to my chest, feeling juvenile and sad, but also like I've rediscovered a lost and forgotten part of myself. It's one of the only two connections I have left to my father.

As I open the book to the first page of my father's entries and read his familiar scrawl, I feel warmth in my chest. Flipping through the pages one by one, reading Daddy's own words in his voice in my head, relearning the knowledge he passed on to me (that I already knew by heart), I think I understand why baking is so important for Peeta, why he was so eager to get the bakery rebuilt. I have two physical reminders of my father, but Peeta's reminder of his own father is in his skill, and in his heart. Perhaps he feels as close to Mr. Mellark when he ices cakes and kneads dough, as I do to my dad when I read his plant book and wear his jacket.

I continue reading and take in the words and charcoal-drawn images and pressed plants on the yellowed pages of the book, when suddenly an idea hits me; one that encompasses our agreement to remember those we lost, but to live on without them, and to look back on them with fondness rather than sorrow. Not a plant book, but a memory book, where we can write whatever we know about anyone who died at the hands of the games or the old Capitol or the war, and maybe Peeta can even draw them. The idea makes me giddy and inexplicably nervous. I can't wait for Peeta to return home and tell him my plan.

While waiting for him to return, I lose myself in my father's book, so much so that I realize nearly five hours have gone by and I haven't even started preparing for dinner yet. I'm nearing the final pages of the entries in the book when the door creaks open and Peeta walks through, tugging off his gloves and throwing them on the entryway table.

He sees me on the couch and flashes me his bright smile as he takes off his coat. "Hey, you," he says quietly, leaning down to place a peck on my lips once he's made it to the couch. He throws himself down beside me and leans his head gently on my breast as he sighs heavily, his right arm wrapping around my stomach.

"Hey," I reply, bringing my right hand to play with his hair, scratching his scalp softly. "Long day?"

I feel him nod. "I didn't even know there are that many people in District Twelve. After I got back from lunch it was like the floodgates had opened. I guess word finally got around to everyone that I'm back in business." I make an apologetic little noise and kiss the top of his head. "What are you reading?" he asks curiously.

I explain to him how my grandfather and father collected plants from the woods and wrote down their characteristics, whether or not they were poisonous, edible, or anything else about them. Peeta is intrigued and I let him read some of my father's hand-written words; I realize that he's the first person outside my family to see them.

"It got me thinking, though," I begin, twisting my fingers around a curl absentmindedly.

"About what?"

"A similar book. Only… different," I murmur quietly. "A memory book, where we could write down everything we could remember about all the people we lost. I thought maybe you could draw them, also, if you can. It would be like honoring them the best way we can."

Peeta is silent for a moment and I begin to fear the worst, but then he lifts his head off my chest and his eyes meet mine with such intensity that my breath catches. "That's an amazing idea, Katniss. Really, I – I can't imagine a better thing."

I sigh in relief, glad that he approves, and close the book gently before setting it on the coffee table. "Can we start tomorrow?" I ask hopefully, taking his hand in mine.

"Of course," Peeta says without hesitation, and he squeezes my fingers reassuringly. "I've got a big sketchbook from Effie that we can use. It's not leather-bound, but it's got really good quality paper; it'll be perfect."

I nod and kiss him with a tiny smile on my lips, his enthusiasm about the book utterly infectious. His lips respond to mine instantly, and I don't even bother to fight my shudder when he sucks my lower lip in his mouth and nibbles on the middle gently, teasingly as it slips away.

I lightly push his at his chest and smile. "I better go find something for dinner."

…

It's three and a half weeks later and the only time since that fateful afternoon that Peeta and I have discussed our trip to the Capitol was yesterday, when Haymitch caught me on my way back from the woods to relay when the train was leaving District Twelve on Saturday morning. I had groaned out loud, positively dreading this entire thing. I think I saw a flash of understanding in Haymitch's eyes, but I blamed the nearly-empty bottle in his weathered hand. His sobriety didn't last very long, and the bottles piled farther up the closer this Saturday came.

When I told Peeta he just nodded and reminded me I have nothing to worry about, that he would do all the talking. I can't thank him enough for it, because I'm positive I wouldn't be able to utter five words without breaking down completely, and that's the last thing anyone wants. I have to be the fearless leader once again, Peeta and I both do.

There is no discussion of Gale or anyone else we might see. But especially not Gale. Maybe there should be. But there isn't.

As the day approaches, Peeta's usually calm demeanor dissipates until by the time it's Wednesday he is a walking ball of tense muscles and anxiety. I'll never admit it aloud, but I'm afraid he might have an episode soon. Dr. Aurelius has said he's supposed to keep his stress levels to a minimum, which only begs the question why the doctor himself would permit this for Peeta. There have been a couple instances in the past few months where Peeta successfully kept the "not real" thoughts at bay and his sanity intact by breathing deeply and clutching the back of a chair, or the counter, anything that wouldn't crumble in his death grip.

I'm proud of him for being so strong. I can't help but feel that the small attacks he's had are my fault, judging from how he can barely look at me or touch me for a good hour after it's passed. He apologizes over and over, to which I always remind him that they aren't his fault, and how much I love him despite this.

Peeta sits on the couch watching some Capitol cooking show when I enter the living room with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate. I can't get enough of this stuff, and ever since I learned how to make it, it's become our staple winter drink.

"Thanks, baby," Peeta says, taking his mug and lifting it to his lips. I sit next to him and take a sip of my own, letting the overly-sweet warmth trickle down my throat and heat me from the inside out.

We set our cups on trivets and I cuddle into his side, soaking up his body heat like a sponge. "I love you," I tell him, and run my hand up in circles over his stomach. He likes the motion, he's told me before, and he nuzzles my hair with his nose.

"I'll never get tired of hearing you say that," he mutters, kissing my temple.

I look up at him, and I can feel my scowl despite my attempts to repress it. "But you believe it, right? You know I mean those words with all my heart; they're for you and you only."

When he doesn't answer immediately, my suspicions are confirmed. He sighs heavily, and I feel his body tense against mine. I doubt it's from my ministrations, either. "I just – you and Gale… it's hard, Katniss. Especially lately; all I can think are the 'what ifs' that could happen when you see his face again. The biggest one being what if it's just like last time coming home from the games, and you want nothing to do with me anymore?"

His voice cracks a tiny bit at the end of his sentence, and I have a peculiar mixture of pity and anger. Pity, because it's me that's planted these worries in his head. Not the Capitol, but me (though I suspect what they did doesn't help the situation either) and he doesn't deserve that. But anger at him, for having doubts about my feelings for him in the first place, after all we've talked about and all our kisses.

That's my fault too, I guess, now that I admit it in my head.

"Peeta, I will never leave you again. Things are different now," I remind him, and resume stroking his stomach. I see his jaw set, though, and I instantly know that was the wrong thing to say. I curse my insensitivity and quickly open my mouth to fix it, moving my hand to his jaw for good measure. "And even if things weren't different, it was always you, and it will always be you. Maybe it would have happened over a longer period of time, for me to realize it; there's no way of knowing. But Gale and I would never work; we're too similar. You have to believe me when I say that I _need_ you. And I can't tell you how sorry I am for planting these doubts in your head."

Peeta sighs and leans his cheek into my hand. "I'm sorry too, Katniss. I know that you're the last person to say something you don't mean. I love you." He kisses my palm, which is damp with nervousness.

I nod and reach up to kiss him, and when I pull away I can feel a grin tugging on the corners of my lips. "You want to know something?" He nods and I feel his fingers tug the elastic from my braid, letting the waves fall down past my shoulders. "Of the two times I kissed Gale, neither came anywhere close to making me feel what your kisses do. And your kisses have caused something to bloom inside me since that day in the cave, when I had known you maybe a grand total of two weeks."

I watch his eyes darken slightly as I speak, and he pulls me onto his lap, only to duck down to plant his lips on my neck when I'm done talking. "What do my kisses do to you, Katniss?" he asks.

My voice catches in my throat and my face floods with heat. I'm not sure if it's from his ministrations on my skin, or the fact that he's actually asking me to describe the effect his lips have on my body. I open my mouth but all that comes out is a garbled moan of his name when his tongue finds my pulse and begins to suckle on it with more force than usual.

I trail my hands along his shoulders and tug at his hair, which I know he loves. Sure enough he growls lightly and attacks my lips with his, his tongue meeting mine immediately. I can't help but moan loudly and a few moments later Peeta pulls away, looking me in the eye, our breathing heavy. "Tell me Katniss; I need to hear you say it."

My fingers tremble slightly, not in fear, but in excitement. I've never seen Peeta all… possessive like this before. I'm finding it incredibly arousing, which surprises me to no end. I don't deny it, though, so I give him what he wants. I plant my forehead on his and trail my hands across his shoulders, down his arms, and back up again. "They make a tingling sensation happen at the top of my spine, and it trickles down until it reaches my fingers and toes. It's like an indescribable warmth spreads through me, making me feel safe and… loved. It pools in the bottom of my stomach and mixes with the butterflies that happen every time your lips touch mine. And it makes me want you," I finish with a whisper, the words spilling from my mouth so poetically I have to wonder where my mind came up with the ability to do so.

Peeta lets out a shuddering breath and captures my hands in his, squeezing them bringing my knuckles to his lips. "Let me make love to you, Katniss, please," he practically begs, and I can hear the desire mixed in with his reverent tone.

His request hits me like a ton of bricks, my ability to think and breathe suddenly stifled. Make love? Am I ready for that? Fear floods my body, and I pull back to look in Peeta's azure gaze. He looks hopeful, but I know if I have any doubts he will not try to persuade me otherwise.

I realize that at this point any doubts I have about being with him are about myself, not him, but for the sake of our relationship, I need to get past those. I _want_ to make love to him. I'm just… afraid. What if it's not what he expects? What if _I'm_ not what he expects?

As if he's reading my mind, Peeta squeezes my hands before letting them free so that his can roam my back comfortingly, and he says, "Don't forget this is my first time too, Katniss. This isn't about just doing it for the sake of doing it. I want to show you how much I love you." My eyes must still show my fear, though, because he continues. "Baby, it's normal to be nervous, see?" He picks up one of my hands once again and places it above his heart. I can feel its strong, rapid beat underneath his skin, and some kind of relief floods through me as I realize that this is almost just as nerve-wracking for him as it is for me.

Suddenly I realize without a doubt that there is no way I can deny him what we both want. I'm ready, he's ready, and it's _right_. "Yes, Peeta," I murmur, kissing him soundly as I throw my arms around his neck, bringing him as close to me as I can. "Make love to me. Make me yours, and only yours."

I hear his low groan and I smile brighter than I have in a long time. "Let's go upstairs," he says, practically lifting me off him with ease before weaving our fingers together and leading me to our room.

The sun has long since set and the room is cloaked in darkness, and I can't help but be glad when Peeta doesn't make a move to turn the big light on. I know he wants to be able to see me, though, and obviously I want to see him as well, so I don't protest when he turns the two bedside lamps on before crawling next to me on the mattress.

"Thank you, Katniss," he says quietly, trailing his large hand down my side.

"You don't have to thank me, Peeta," I tell him immediately, needing this cleared up right away. "I want this as much as you do. Maybe even more."

Peeta smirks and suddenly his body is covering mine. "I doubt that. There's no way anyone could want anyone else as much as I want you," he says. I flush and roll my eyes at his corny confession and clutch the back of his head to bring his lips to mine.

Our kisses start out slow, sweet and deep, his tongue massaging mine sensuously. My hands clutch at his shoulders tightly, and I can't seem to shake the worry. Peeta senses this, and tickles the roof of my mouth with the tip of his tongue before disconnecting our mouths. "Try to relax, Katniss. If you're having second thoughts, we can st –"

I don't let him finish his sentence, covering his lips with mine in an instant. "I don't want to stop. I want this more than anything. I'm still just nervous," I confess, hiding my face ashamedly in his warm neck.

He nudges his nose against my cheek and forces me to look at him. "What can I do to make you more comfortable? Do you want all the lights off?"

He's so sweet, and in the middle of all this I have to wonder for the millionth time what I did to deserve him. I shake my head at his suggestion; he's already seen me naked several times, and I've become somewhat accustomed to that. Even I can't really say what it is about tonight that's freaking me out. It's just such an emotional step, I guess.

I know what my body and my libido wants, though, and I bring his head close to mine and whisper in his ear. "Take control, Peeta. I need you to show me, to take the lead. Like that first night you promised I would like your mouth on me." Peeta's eyes darken even more than they already have, and I know he likes the idea. It's a little ironic that our bedroom roles are switched from reality. Here in our cozy bed, he is very much the aggressor, and I the willing recipient. Funny or not, this is the way we like it, and at this point I wouldn't change a thing about it. "Just don't go crazy, bossing me around and stuff," I add, trying to ease my own tension.

Peeta laughs and buries his face in my neck, planting wet kisses down my skin. "I wouldn't dream of it." When he runs out of flesh to kiss, I feel his fingers slip under the hem of my soft sweater and brush my stomach. "Sit up," he demands, already gathering the fabric in his hands to ease off my body.

I do as he says and the fabric is up and over my head in a second. I reach for his t-shirt and he allows me to pull it off his strong torso, mussing his blond curls as it passes over them. I admire the view for a moment before my eyes close of their own accord when his kisses make light circles around my nipple, teasing it to a peak without even touching the sensitive nub. My fingers wrap themselves in his hair to guide him where I want him, and I groan appreciatively when his tongue laves the dark circle. He blows on the wet, sensitive skin and goose-bumps erupt all over my body, desire pooling between my thighs. "Peeta…" I whimper pathetically, gripping his hair harder. "Again."

This time when his lips close around me, he sucks it into his mouth just hard enough for a jolt of pleasure to shoot through me, and he pulls back to blow cool air on me again. His thumb and forefinger toy with my other nipple and the combined sensation is overwhelming.

"I want to taste you," he whispers in my ear a moment later. Part of me wants to protest, eager to prolong the feeling of his mouth and fingers on my breasts, but when his lips find my bellybutton I have a whole new wave of anticipation wash over me, because _nothing_ compares to this.

He sits up to unbutton and unzip my jeans and peels them off my legs, followed closely by my panties. I giggle when he tosses them over his shoulder without looking and the skimpy waistband ends up catching on the bedpost. His eyes follow mine and he emits a low chuckle of his own before reverting his attention to my dripping sex. I feel his fingertips brush me tenderly, and our moans intermingle in the minimal space between our mouths. He kisses me lovingly before leaving abruptly for my lower half.

The high-pitched squeal that leaves my mouth when his tongue laves my wetness is barely registered in my own ears. One hand fists the sheets and the other his blonde curls, which tickle the insides of my thighs when they clench around his head when he inserts a finger, then two, inside me. Peeta curls his tongue around my clit and reaches his long fingers deep within me, hitting a shallow spot that makes my knuckles turn white and my moans rise an octave, which I didn't even know was possible.

Maybe I should feel irritated when I sense his grin against my skin, but I don't; I can't possibly bring myself to chastise him for smugness he has undoubtedly earned, if my trembling, flushed form is any indication. I sense my impending orgasm as he continues his ministrations, and I move the hand in his hair to his shoulder, attempting to pull him up. I want us to come together, this being our first time.

To only half my disappointment, Peeta refuses, and curls his fingers upward while nipping the inside of my thighs seductively. His eyes are dark but alight with love and desire; he's beautiful, the things he's doing to my body incredible. "I – I want to make sure you get one at least once. I'm not sure how long I'll last," he admits, and the flush that passes over his cheeks is so endearing that I can't help but grin at his thoughtfulness.

He makes the come-hither motion inside me again and instantly I only know one word in the English language to respond with, my hand flying back to his hair. "Peeta!"

His tongue meets my skin again and within moments he has me tipping over the edge, my cries of his name resonating through the room. He brings me down with gentle kisses and licks, and my hand slowly releases the death grip on his curls, combing through the soft strands in what I hope is an affectionate manner. I wouldn't be able to tell, as I can barely control my limbs at this point.

Peeta climbs back up my body and I'm more than embarrassed to see the copious amount of my liquids on the lower half of his face. He licks his lips seductively, catching the remnants of my orgasm from his mouth, and moans. "You're still the best thing I've ever tasted," he whispers gruffly in my ear. His breath tickles and between the sensation and his words alone I shudder. My hands reach between us and pull down his already undone jeans (he must have done that himself for relief), and he kicks them off the rest of the way. I stroke him through the soft fabric of his boxers a couple of times, enjoying the resulting hiss that passed his lips, before tugging them off as well.

"Will you show me how to reciprocate?" I ask, trailing my hands up his chest and back down to his groin. "With my mouth, I mean?"

Peeta groans and kisses me, our tongues mingling and massaging until he pull back, breathless, and opens a drawer of one of the bedside tables. "Yes, baby, that sounds amazing. But… later. I need to be inside you."

A knot forms in my stomach, my previous nerves overtaking me again. I see the little package he has in his hand is a condom. I can't believe protection never even crossed my mind once when I agreed to this tonight. I got a shot the last time I was in the Capitol, but it only lasts three months. And, as our upcoming trip indicates, it's been nearly a year since I got it. I make a mental note to ask Dr. Aurelius for a dose before asking Peeta, "Where did you get those?"

He blushes and pinches the top before rolling the circle down his length. "Effie, of course. She sent them on the last train shipment, insisting 'better to be safe than sorry, or we'd end up with a big, big, big surprise.'"

I'm caught between being horrified and humored, so I let out a mortified laugh, which Peeta appreciates. He smiles and trails his hands up and down my thighs, which rest on either of his hips. "Are you completely sure, Katniss?" he asks, all seriousness back in his tone.

I nod and wrap my legs around his waist, bringing him to me, and he settles his weight on his elbows on either side of my head. My arms circle his chest to run along his back, and he leans down so his lips find mine, where I whisper my affirmation softly. "One-hundred percent sure, Peeta. I love you."

"I love you too," he replies without any hesitation. He kisses me again and pulls back to look in my eyes. "Can you… guide me?"

Knowing what he means, I nod and reach between us to grip his length. He groans and never takes his eyes off mine as I line him up with my entrance. This is it, I realize; my last semblance of innocence is about to be taken forever.

I wouldn't have it any other way.

His hips shift forward and I gasp at the fullness of him, even in the shallow stage of his penetration. "Please tell me if it hurts too much," he begs in a strained whisper. I nod and grip the sides of his face to meet him with a passionate kiss. My sweet Peeta, looking out for my comfort even through his obvious pleasure; I love him.

Our lips work against one another's as he slides further within me, and especially not when he reaches my barrier. I pull back enough to speak before immediately reconnecting our mouths. "Just do it, Peeta, it's okay," I assure him.

Peeta nods, but I can sense his anxiety and apprehension, because we both know this is going to hurt me. He makes sure that he's doing everything he can to distract me from it, tweaking my nipple and kissing me for all he's worth, as he keeps pushing, finally getting through that thin layer of skin.

However, even his sensual touches can't stop the squeak of pain from passing my lips, my throat constricting involuntarily. The pain is nearly blinding, and it lingers. I whimper and clutch his shoulders, and he nuzzles his nose into my neck, planting wet kisses over my most sensitive spots as he murmurs apologies profusely. I shake my head and concentrate on breathing, and eventually, when I'm sure I can handle it, I move my hands to his hips to urge him to completely bury himself inside me. It hurts, but not nearly as much, and I sigh with relief.

I feel utterly stretched and overly full, but it's not an entirely bad feeling. Peeta's forehead is resting on my shoulder, his breathing heavy and uneven; it's taking a lot for him to keep still, but he won't move until I tell him it's okay. Experimentally, I tilt my hips up to meet his, and his groan is immediate. "Katniss," he whimpers, and his own hips thrust gently. "Can… can I?"

I nod and crash my lips to his, tasting his mouth as he moves out of me for the first time, then back in. He tries to go slow, and I'm grateful, because to say it doesn't hurt anymore would be an outright lie. After a few minutes, though, the sharp ache starts to slowly fade, until it's there just enough to keep me from getting enough pleasure to really build up an orgasm just yet. It does feel amazing being connected to Peeta though, and I touch every bit of his sweat-slicked skin as I can, while he peppers my face and breasts with feather-light kisses.

Peeta's thrusts remain controlled, but they have sped up with the more noises of appreciation I make. They spill from my mouth quietly and uncontrollably, contrasting with his occasional deep groans and grunts; I think they're the most beautiful sounds I've ever heard, and knowing it's me causing them only amplifies that fact.

I chance a glance between the nearly non-existent space between our bodies and watch with complete awe as he slides in and out of me at a quick, even pace, amazed by how… beautiful it all is. His length comes out of me glistening, and goes back in so I feel so full of him I could positively burst with pleasure and happiness.

"Unh, Katniss," he moans, kissing my jawline to my chin, then my lips. "I'm so close, I'm gonna come."

"It's okay, Peeta," I tell him for the second time tonight. He groans and his hips shift, and he hits a whole new spot within me. My pleasure is skyrocketed to an entire new level; I suddenly realize the reason those girls who went behind the slag heap raved about this act. "You feel so good," I whimper, my nails digging into the soft, firm skin of his back, my cheek resting against his.

"Touch yourself, baby," he says in a gruff, gentle whisper. He nips my earlobe and keeps talking. "Come with me."

Somewhat reluctantly, I reach between us and use my fingers to create circles around my clit and I can't help but cry out. It doesn't feel nearly as good as when Peeta touches me there, but it helps in moving me to that finish line.

Sure enough, the build intensifies until I release more high-pitched cries of delight as I tumble over the edge, my inner walls clenching deliciously around Peeta's still-pumping length.

"Katniss, oh shit, _yes_," he whispers, and then he's quiet for a moment as I feel him throb within me, and then he groans loudly, signaling his completion.

Peeta collapses on top of me, and I welcome his weight by wrapping my arms around him and hugging his sweaty body to mine. I feel sated and sleepy and content and _wonderful_. I smile weakly and try to catch my breath, one of my hands coming up to brush his hair off his forehead repeatedly. He lifts his chin, and he's just as breathless as I am. His grin matches mine and he kisses me soundly before rolling off me, much to my chagrin. He throws away the condom and turns back to me, that goofy smile still on his face.

"You look rather smug," I say, pulling the covers around our bodies as the sweat cools on our skin. We snuggle up to each other, him lying on his back and me curled next to him on my side. I rest my head on his chest and trace his abdominal muscles with the tip of my finger. I smirk as they flutter under my touch.

He reaches down to capture my hand in his and gives me a knowing look before bringing it to his lips. "I just didn't think I'd last long enough for you to have one, too," he explains. "Makes a guy feel good."

I roll my eyes but I laugh also, loving this afterglow period. "I had faith in you."

Peeta nuzzles his nose in my hair and kisses my temple, and then yawns widely. "I'm glad we get to take this with us to the Capitol. It makes me feel like we've just proved ourselves even more. Even if we're the only ones who know it." He sighs, and I know he's going to fall asleep in a minute. It's late, and our activities of the night were rather strenuous; I'm right on his heels, in fact. "I love you, Katniss."

"Love you too, Peeta," I say.

I think about what he said, and how right he is. On top of that, I love that this is our time to be our age, to explore and learn with each other and show our love and appreciation. Before Peeta, I never really thought of sex as something like that. It was more of just an extraneous activity that led to babies and trouble. Somehow, I bet Peeta has always seen it as 'making love.' It probably wouldn't even matter if he was from town or the Seam, that's just who he is. I envy that.

Looking up at his face, his pale skin and golden hair illuminated in the moonlight, he almost looks surreal – otherworldly, even. It's the last thing I think of before falling asleep, the Capitol trip and Gale completely forgotten from my mind.

…

Saturday morning arrives before we know it, and Peeta, Haymitch and I stand on the platform of the tiny District Twelve train station. Peeta and I clutch each other's hands for dear life. Last time we stood here, we were being whisked away to the Quarter Quell, and it's taking a lot of concentration and squeezes from Peeta's big hand to remind me that that is not where we're heading today.

Haymitch seems to be holding off on the white liquor so as to enjoy the finer choices offered on the train, although he showed us his "just in case" bottles, in case Effie banned alcohol anywhere he went, which none of us put past her. I notice his hands shaking, and he pulls a flask out from his coat pocket and takes a hearty swig.

None of us say a word, but after a while Haymitch finally speaks up, startling Peeta and I. "Oh, almost forgot, your damn picture!" he said loudly, bending down to shuffle through his duffle bag. I'm still clutching Peeta's hand, leaning against his arm to fight to stay awake (and warm) while we wait, watching our old mentor with amusement and anticipation, eager to see what he came up with. As far as I knew, neither of us had ever noticed him with a camera, so this would be a complete surprise for the both of us.

He comes back up a minute later with two five-by-six picture frames, both in polished wood frames, and I snatch one from him eagerly. "Thought you'd like to have these before we get to the hellhole," he mutters, taking another drink once Peeta has taken the other frame. "And now you can have one at the office and one at home."

I take a good look at the picture and gasp, my eyes almost starting to water. It's truly the perfect picture, so perfect it couldn't be natural. But it is. It's of Peeta and I on our front porch swing, probably in mid to late October; we're bundled up in our jackets with a red plaid flannel blanket covering us, and Peeta is wearing my favorite beanie of his, the blue one that makes his eyes look even more amazing than usual and that the makes ends of his hair curl around the edge of it adorably. I know underneath the blanket, we're clutching hot chocolates. But our appearances aside, it's our expressions, our body language, that stands out the most. I'm sitting sideways on Peeta's lap, my head on his shoulder, and Peeta's nose is just brushing my cheek. Our eyes don't meet, but the love and contentedness on our faces is almost palpable.

Maybe cameras aren't so bad after all.

Without warning, Peeta and I both launch ourselves at Haymitch, who splutters and looks utterly bewildered, as neither Peeta or I are very affectionate with anyone but each other. We probably look ridiculous, with Haymitch sandwiched between us with our arms wrapped around him; Peeta is several inches taller than Haymitch now (when did that happen?) and me several inches shorter that both of them.

"Thank you, Haymitch," I say quietly, and we release him at the same time.

He grumbles something that sounds somewhat like "welcome" and zips his bag back up, taking another drink from his flask. He looks slightly confused still and I can't help but laugh. He shoots me a look, but it's soft enough I know he's just being Haymitch.

At that moment I see the white bullet that is the train come around the corner, and within moments it's stopped in front of us.

I look at Peeta, and I can feel the scowl on my face. He nods at me reassuringly and picks up our bags and enters the train before I can snatch mine back and protest his chivalry. I realize not for the first time I would not be able to do this without him, as he turns around to grin at me cheekily, and hops up the steps before disappearing. I look back down at the picture in my hands and slowly my frown turns into a smile, and once again Peeta has made me forget what we're soon about to face.

…

**A/N**: Thank you so much for reading! No worries, I've already started the mental writing of the next chapter, so the wait won't be as long as this was. I hope this wasn't too long. If it was, let me know and I'll cut super long chapters like this into two chapters.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N**: So reviews are severely dwindling for this story, but I can't thank those of you who did review enough! It's for you all that I keep writing this. So after reading this chapter if you have suggestions for where you want it to go, let me know; I'm making this up as I go along really, since I never intended it to be this many chapters to begin with. Again, I'm so sorry for those who did review and I didn't get back to; finals were a bitch but they're finally over yay! I'll shut up now.

Note the _**M**_ in this chapter!

…

The inside of the train is as unwelcomingly familiar as the outside. I sigh heavily as Haymitch heads straight for the bar car, and I half expect Effie to hop off the deep purple couch to greet us in true Effie fashion. There is no Effie, though, and I find myself wondering what's become of her, a tiny part of me genuinely missing her. We hang our coats on a nearby rack and further take in our surroundings silently for a moment.

"What are we supposed to do with all this time we have while we're stuck on this thing? I mean, with no strategizing to discuss and footage to study," Peeta wonders aloud, a slight edge to his voice. I look at him and scowl. Sarcasm and negativity are my areas of expertise; they sound wrong coming from my Peeta's mouth, which usually spouts the most beautiful things.

"Were you not the one who was telling me to be positive about this?" I remind him.

Peeta shrugs. "It's all just kind of hit me, I guess. I'm nervous."

I know he's talking more about going to the Capitol itself rather than why we're going in the first place. He's terrified of an episode happening, and it's putting him on edge, hence his sudden mood; it all breaks my heart. My fingers wrap around his forearm to trace the sensitive skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake as I take his hand in mine. I give him the picture frame still clutched in my other hand.

"Just think of this, Peeta," I say quietly. "It doesn't get any more 'real' than this. This is _us_."

Peeta observes the picture and smiles slightly. "We look in love."

"We are in love," I reassure him firmly, squeezing the hand still enclosed in mine.

He nods and sets the picture on a fancy little table before gathering me into his arms. My own wrap around his middle and I bury my face in his chest, his firm muscles making for the perfect pillow.

"Can I show you how in love I am with you?" his whisper penetrates my ear, resulting in a shiver across my entire body. I pull back to look him in the eye and giggle at the eagerness that shines in the azure depths; he has to know the risks of that outweigh the benefits, though.

When I realize he's completely serious, my face turns stern and my usual frown reappears. "Peeta, someone could walk in, or hear us."

"We'll be quiet, then. And lock the door."

I look at him, all hopeful and excited, but I'm still questioning. The last thing I want is Haymitch or anyone else on this train to hear us in the midst of something so private.

His gaze captures mine and I know I've lost this battle. My shoulders sag in defeat and I roll my eyes, but I mumble, "Fine," and decide that there are much worse things to give in to than sex on a train with my beautiful boyfriend. This is too new and too good to deny right now.

Peeta's smile is blinding and he leans down to seize my lips with his, pulling my bottom one in his mouth and sucking on it provocatively. I whimper almost imperceptibly and Peeta moves his kisses to my jaw, his tongue laving my skin until it reaches my ear once more.

"It's really too bad, though," he breathes. "I love hearing you scream my name, especially when I'm inside you." He punctuates his sentences with a nip to my earlobe, and because of his statement I do everything I can not to make a sound.

"I do not _scream_," I say indignantly, using all my willpower to pull away from his warmth. Peeta just smirks down at me maddeningly, and moves his hands to my waistband before his fingers slip under my sweater to caress my warm skin.

"You do," he counters, "and as soon as we're home, I'll prove it to you _over_ and _over_ again."

I reach up on my tip-toes to kiss his lips, no longer able to refrain myself from touching him. He groans when our tongues meet, but I pull back as soon as the sound escapes his throat. "Come on; let's make sure we have an alibi so we're not…interrupted."

Peeta nods and we easily find a train attendant and inform him of how tired we are, and that we're retiring to bed until lunch.

It's not a lie, per se, and it's entirely believable on some accounts. We did have to wake up early to be at the station at the allotted time nearly two hours before the scheduled departure.

Peeta leads me by the hand to the compartment the attendant directed us to, snatching up the picture as we go, and as soon as the door is closed he drags me to the bed and begins to undress me. I laugh at his enthusiasm when he drags my shirt over my head, but he clamps his hand over my mouth almost at once.

"Quiet. We're supposed to be just _beat_, completely worn out, _asleep_," he relays my words to the attendant, which had been overdrawn and probably unnecessarily exaggerated with my accompanying yawns, but I wasn't taking any chances here. His eyes are playful and I roll my own, removing his hand from my face so I can kiss him. Soon we're both down to our underwear and under the covers, kissing and touching with a now-familiar fervor nearly identical to that of night two nights ago.

And yesterday morning. And yesterday at lunch; _twice_ last night; and even in the wee hours of this morning.

It's a wonder I'm not walking funny, though I am, admittedly, a little sore. I smile against Peeta's warm lips and run my hands along his bare back, memorizing the hard planes with my palms.

He breaks away from my lips slowly but never moves them more than a fraction of an inch from my skin, only dragging them to my jaw and down my neck. "What are you grinning about?" he asks. His voice is a spine-tingling mix of playful and seductive, the vibrations of which rumble against my sensitive pulse, where he's now sucking gently.

My smile grows even wider, and I twine my fingers in his hair. I've never felt this light and carefree before; I've never been able to. I still _shouldn't_ be able to, not with the loss of Prim and the slow, steady regrowth of our country. I can't help it, though, and I refuse to let the guilt consume me today. Not when Peeta is so happy and like his old self, which he hasn't been for the past couple of weeks.

I realize I haven't answered him. "I was thinking about just how downright insatiable you are, my Peeta," I whisper back.

He pulls away from my skin to look at me, his eyes sparkling in the dim light of the room. "_Me_?" he whispers incredulously. "Was it _me_ who woke you up in the dead of night for round two, or who jumped you as soon as you walked in the door for lunch? I don't think so!"

Peeta ducks down again and attacks my neck and collarbone with wet kisses and his fingers grip my sides, tickling me. Despite our need for silence I burst into a fit of giggles, fighting to pry his fingers away from my waist, but to no avail. Those big, warm hands are much stronger than mine. As if proving this further, he gathers both of my wrists in one of his hands, and bends down again to suck at the swell of my breast where it peeks over my bra, biting the supple flesh and causing me to moan at the spark of painful pleasure.

He tugs the cup of my bra to the side and immediately closes his mouth around my nipple, suckling and nibbling until I'm a writhing, whimpering mess beneath him. Peeta reaches beneath me to unhook the barrier and when he leans down once more, he focuses his attention on my other breast, teasing the other with his thumb.

Peeta nips the underside of my breast and looks up at me mischievously before dragging his lips further down my body. His tongue dips into my bellybutton and I squirm at the sensation, my thighs shaking in anticipation as he moves his hot breath directly above my center. I close my eyes and grip the sheets, waiting for him to move the fabric aside and ravish me.

But suddenly he's gone, and when I open my eyes in confusion I see him sitting back on his heels, looking down at me with humor and satisfaction. I groan in irritation and slide my panties down my legs before reaching for him. Peeta chuckles, but he doesn't move forward as I hoped he would, and simply rubs small circles on the inside of my knee with his thumb. I shudder as he stokes the little nerves there and moan his name. He laughs again.

"Looks to me like you're the insatiable one, Katniss."

I glare at him, and his grin widens. As if seeking revenge for his little quip, my foot trails up the inside of his thigh, finding his erection easily and stroking him through the thin material of his boxers. Peeta's smirk lessens as he whimpers softly, and he removes my foot from his crotch, lifting it to his mouth and kissing the arch before making his way to my ankle. I sigh as his lips caress the sensitive skin there, both tickling and sending thrills across my flushed body.

He kisses his way up my calf, nipping the inside of my knee before dropping my leg and running his hand along my center, his fingertips rolling my clit in slow, pleasurable circles. I gasp and moan, clutching the elbow of the arm supporting him.

"I need to be inside you," he whispers, reaching over to the nightstand where he had put the condom earlier, before we started kissing. I watch him with lustful eyes as he rolls the condom down his impressive length and situates himself between my legs. Peeta bends down to give me a deep kiss, which I return all too easily. "I love you," he whispers. He's said it before and after every time, like he's afraid I'll forget. I most certainly will not forget that, not ever again.

"I love you, too." He smiles down at me and sits up, cupping the back of my right knee in his hand, lifting it a few inches and pushing my leg back towards my head before thrusting into me with a groan. "Peeta…"

Peeta sighs in response and moves in and out of me with slow, unhurried movements. He's incredibly good at this, I've realized over the past couple of days, like it just comes naturally to him to know exactly how to manipulate my body into the most mind-blowing pleasure it has ever known.

With him sitting up on his knees, I get more of a view of his body than ever before. His abdominal muscles ripple with each movement, his broad chest already glistening with an almost iridescent sheen, and his bicep of the arm holding my leg is bulging.

Our eyes meet, and he grins swiftly at me before trailing his gaze down my body, until it fixates on where we're coming together again and again. Peeta groans immediately and watches in fascination as he appears from my body, coated with my arousal, only to disappear and fill me again a second later. His thrusts speed up, apparently just as turned on as I am by the sight.

"Faster, Peeta," I whimper quietly, wrapping my free leg around his waist and bringing him even closer to me. He lets out a masculine growl at my words and his hips speed up, pounding into me with abandon; this was no time for slow and sweet, which he had a particular liking for despite his rather dominant nature in bed. If the look of utter pleasure on his face is any indication, though, he has no complaints about our fast and reckless pace. There are so many surprising things we're learning about each other we never would have known without this element of our relationship, and it's new and exciting and amazing.

The harder his hips thrust, the more I have to contain my sounds, which is proving to be more than difficult; it just feels too good. Peeta sees this and brings one hand to cup my mouth, effectively muffling my voice. Our eyes meet and with one final push I'm gone, soaring into another world as pure pleasure overtakes my heated body and I call out his name as best I can, forgetting about silence for the moment. When I come to my senses, stars still blossoming in my eyes, I feel Peeta drop my leg and he crashes down to bury his face in the pillow and my hair, his deep groans emanating from his own release.

Our heavy breathing is the only sounds in the room, and I stroke his sweat-slicked back comfortingly, loving the weight of his body on top of mine. Peeta lifts his top half off of me and kisses me sweetly. "I love you so much, Katniss. I hope I get to do that with you every day, forever."

"I love you too, Peeta."

We kiss briefly again before he pulls out of me and gets up to trash the condom, throwing on his boxers and undershirt before digging in my suitcase to hand me one of my nightshirts and a fresh pair of underwear. "Just in case," he says, crawling back under the covers with me and snuggling my body to his once I'm dressed. "I don't think we can do anything about the sex smell, though."

I can't find it in myself to care. "After all those precautions we took, too," I joke half-heartedly and yawn, actually ready for a nap now.

Peeta hums in amusement, and by the sound I know he's tired, too. He pulls away from me to set the bedside alarm to wake us up in time for lunch.

What awakes me isn't the annoying beep of an alarm, but the strained voice of Peeta, and his hands shaking me almost violently. My eyes shoot open and I realize my brow is damp, and my cheeks are sticky and my eyes raw. My nightmare comes rushing back to me, and I try to calm myself with deep, shuddering breaths and finding Peeta's eyes with my own. They're full of concern, and now that his hands have stopped jostling me, I realize they're trembling.

"You wouldn't wake up again, Katniss," he says, his voice as steady as his hands, almost distraught. "You were crying and saying my name; did I hurt you in your dream?"

I shake my head and throw my arms around him, doing my best not to burst into tears by nuzzling my face between his pecs and inhaling his warm, unique scent. He couldn't be more wrong in his guess, though. This is the first nightmare I've had about losing him, like the ones he has about me. Prim and mutts and fire weren't anywhere to be seen; just Peeta, swallowing those berries and collapsing right in front of me, over and over again, until Snow appeared to take his lifeless body, and I could do nothing.

Peeta strokes my hair consolingly, and it helps. Being enveloped in him in general helps, and I suddenly have a first-hand insight into how having me in his bed always remedied his own nightmares, way back when and even now, occasionally.

"I can't do this Peeta," I say shakily, never lifting my head from his body for fear I might break if I see his face. "Even my subconscious knows where we're heading and what's happened there. What happened to _you_. It's too _much_."

"Remember what you told me earlier, baby," he soothes, "we have each other. I'm here, with you, and I'm safe. You won't lose me to the Capitol."

I don't know how he's practically read my mind, voiced the fears I couldn't say aloud, but I don't question it. Those words I told him earlier of only needing each other all seemed suitable and perfect at the time, but then something like a nightmare makes reality come crashing back down. We're just two damaged souls trying to heal one another. But how could we go from being so happy to so broken in the course of practically no time at all?

"We're not okay, Peeta," I answer my own question by stating the obvious. "We're pretty fucked up."

Peeta sighs. "There's no denying that, Katniss," he says with no hesitation, cupping my cheek and tilting my head up to look at him. "And we can't change how or why we became this way; but we'll be pretty fucked up _together_. Until we're not. Because one day, we will be okay." He leans down to gently place his lips upon mine. "I'm never leaving you, not for anyone or any_thing_."

His gaze is intense and my ears capture ever heart-felt word that leaves his mouth. "I'm never leaving you, either. You're my everything," I avert my eyes from his and bite my lip, "and that's what scares me. My nightmare was about losing you. I _never_ want that to happen. I couldn't live if that happened."

"Don't let it scare you, Katniss," he says firmly but gently, brushing the backs of his fingers along my cheek. "Like I said, I'm not going anywhere. You're not going to let that happen, right?"

He knows me so well. Putting confidence in my ability to protect him from the evil that remains in this world puts me at ease just a little. But a little is better than nothing, and I nod in affirmation to his question. "Right, Peeta; my Peeta."

I gather him in my arms and he scoots down to pillow his head on my breasts, and I nuzzle my nose into his clean, blond curls. They hold the leftover scent of bread and his shampoo, leaving me comforted with the smell of _him_. I hug him to me and clutch his head to my chest, squeezing my eyes shut and memorizing the feel of his big, strong body in my arms. "You'll stay with me?"

"Always."

…

I have a new prep team. I don't remember their names, nor do I care to learn them; I don't want to associate any memory with this trip unless I have to, and memorizing the names of the three people who pluck and curl and sparkle the life out of me is not required. The only thing for them I can say is that they don't look completely ridiculous. They're tattoos are fading, and their outfits are normal, but they haven't quite mastered the absences of fuchsia or neon green hair (with matching eyebrows, of course.)

Peeta and I had been escorted by Plutarch and some other heads in the Department of Communications almost straight from the train to our hotel. Plutarch had greeted us jovially and shook our hands, and I'm guessing was being purposely obtuse about our obvious distaste for the situation. In the car ride to the hotel, he pointed out several buildings that were now new government buildings, or how others, like the training center, were being made into historical markers (because like it or not, the Hunger Games were a part of our history, after all, and we mustn't forget that unfortunate time so as to move forward with a new revolution.) At least that's what Plutarch says.

It was when we arrived at the hotel that I made the discovery of tonight's party. Once we were in the hotel, on the right floor and in the correct hallway, Peeta and I had been shoved into separate rooms without any time for a goodbye. When I angrily asked why we were in such a rush, neon-green guy quipped cheerfully about the 'mingle' party tonight, where we would get to know the fellow special guests. I had cringed and my fists had clenched, and I closed my eyes to think of Peeta's words. I could do this with him. I may have to kill Haymitch for not telling us, but I can do it.

So now I sit in a chair and scowl, taking in my surroundings through the mirror. Apparently our marital façade was no longer necessary, because with the size of this room, we could have gotten ready together, in our undoubtedly matching fluffy white robes. I look down at my open-toed slippers that protected my new pedicure. There had been no talk of Beauty Base Zero nor the enormous fuss, like there used to be. It wasn't necessary anymore; but I still had to look presentable, fuchsia lady had said. It was all I could do not to tug off her ridiculous glued-on eyelashes that protruded probably an inch from her face.

I eye my dress hanging from the door on a hanger, and think of my new stylist. She seemed genuine enough, and the black lace number I'm to wear tonight is truly beautiful, but she's no Cinna. She couldn't have been much older than me, similar to me in that she was fairly quiet and subdued, leading me to believe she's not a native Capitolite. Her pretty auburn hair and plastic-free face led me to the same conclusion. I do allow myself to remember her name – Brielle.

I actually like Brielle's dress very much. I don't know who told her about my scars, and how uncomfortable I still am with them around anyone outside of Peeta and the few in District Twelve, but she's designed the perfect dress for the situation. It's black lace with a nude underlay that matches my skin tone to a tee, tight-fitting from the long sleeves to the rather high neck, down to where it ends a couple of inches below my knees.

A little while later, my hair and makeup are done and my team allows me to change in the bathroom. I zip the dress up as far as I can reach and step out into the room, examining myself briefly in the full-length mirror while fuchsia-lady zips the rest. Neon green-guy shoves a pair of black pumps into my hands and I reluctantly slip them on before taking in my full, done-up appearance. My hair is twisted on top of my head in a more sophisticated version of the rare bun I sometimes throw it in if I'm tired of a braid. My makeup is fairly natural, but my black eyeliner is flicked out at the end, which elongates the shape of my eyes; my eyebrows are filled in, but not overly so, and my lips are a deep pink hue that reminds me of the color they turn after Peeta kisses me for a while. I feel my face flush, and all in all I have to admit I look pretty.

There's a knock on the door and Brielle appears a moment later, smiling at the finished product. She makes a gesture as if just remembering something, and she digs into her bag for something until she pulls out a small jewelry box. Brielle places a pair of subtle blue topaz studs through my ears and a matching bracelet on my left wrist. I can't help but admire the deep blue of the stones until I'm distracted by her voice. "You look wonderful, Katniss," she says, and the next thing I know she's embracing me. She's wearing heels of her own, so we're at the same height, and she leans in to whisper in my ear. "I know you were close with Cinna. I'm truly sorry he's not here instead of me."

I nod, not wanting to talk about Cinna with this undoubtedly kind but, ultimately, complete stranger. She leads me out the door of my room and into the hall, where Peeta is waiting patiently with his hands in his pant pockets. He looks incredibly handsome in his casual navy, yet perfectly tailored suit, cream-colored button down that has the faintest taupe pinstripe through it, and forest-green tie, complete with shiny black shoes. I'm glad they didn't go through the fuss of matching us, but there's no denying that we look good together.

Peeta takes in my own appearance and grins when our eyes meet. I take his hand in mine and squeeze, which he returns reassuringly. "Together," he whispers in my ear as we walk toward the elevator.

My nerves grow as we descend in the elevator floor by floor, trying to decide the best way to react when I see my main concern, Gale, for the first time in over a year. Do I ignore him? Do I try to make amends? Neither of those sounds like the right thing to do, and by the time we step into the lobby I feel I may vomit in one of the giant potted plants that are just everywhere in this building.

The party is in one of the large conference rooms of the hotel, and we're shown to the room before left to fend for ourselves. Where is Haymitch? That drunk bastard has some serious explaining to do for not informing us of tonight's plans.

"Should we get a drink?" Peeta suggests, looking to me for confirmation. I shrug and he leads me to a waiter in the corner of the room holding a tray of champagne, never dropping my hand as he first passes me a glass and then takes one for himself, thanking the man politely. I take a sip of the bubbly drink and decide I like it and the pleasant, warm tingle it offers as it slides down my throat.

I peek over the rim of my glass and search the room for someone we might know. I'm relieve when I don't see Gale, and most of the people already here are generally unfamiliar; if I recognize them, it's from sight alone, and even then I don't remember where from.

Unease settles in my stomach and I rest my head gently on Peeta's shoulder, and he kisses my forehead lightly in response.

That unease is slightly put to rest when a long-unheard, familiar voice rings above the dull murmur of the rest of the small crowd. "Oh, you two! Just as sweet as ever!"

Peeta and I both wheel around so fast that I have to grab onto his sleeve to steady myself in my ridiculous heels. I'm greeted by one of the most genuinely pretty faces I've ever seen; had I not heard the woman's voice, I would not have guessed her to be Effie Trinket. But this woman, with her shoulder-length ash-blond hair, understated (yet flawless) makeup, flowing purple dress and subtle hints of sparkling jewelry, _is_ Effie, even with her customary sky-high gold heels that are even taller than mine.

I'm stunned. "Effie!" I say, unable to stop myself. "You're so... beautiful!"

She blushes and pulls me into a tight hug. "Oh, and you as well my darling. I've missed you both terribly."

She releases me and moves to Peeta, who has to bend down to properly embrace her. "We've missed you, too. And you do look amazing, Effie, truly," he says. It's while she's responding that I notice Haymitch standing behind her, flask in hand, but looking fairly sober and clean. Someone has forced him to shave and get a haircut, probably the woman before us now, and honestly he doesn't look half bad himself.

"Thanks for informing us of this event tonight, Haymitch," I say sarcastically, to which he rolls his eyes and takes a swing of his drink. "Real helpful."

Effie turns and smacks Haymitch on the arm. "Haymitch, how completely insensitive! You didn't tell them about tonight? The poor things were probably completely unprepared. This was a last minute addition to the schedule of your trip," she adds to Peeta and I, before returning her attention to our old mentor and fixing him with a stern gaze, waiting for his excuse. I can only imagine it mirrors my own, and I look at him expectantly.

Haymitch throws his hands in the air in defeat. "Hey, I didn't think you needed the extra stress. Would it have honestly helped if you had one more thing to worry about today?"

"Yes!" I say, although I'm not sure that's entirely true now that he brought up that point.

He rolls his eyes again and I know he sees right through me, but I don't find it in myself to care. He drains his flask and walks around the room in search of more alcohol.

While he's gone, Effie informs us of what she's been up to since the rebellion. She works in Plutarch's department, and will, eventually, plan state dinners, anniversary celebrations such as this one, and more. She says the job is very broad at this point, and that she merely assisted in planning the next two days, studying Plutarch and working out all the kinks of the newly created position, but eventually it will all be up to her. It sounds like a fitting career for our former escort, and she seems happy.

The room has become considerable more crowded, and the three of us walk around the room for a while. Effie introduces us to several people in the Department of Communications as well as from other departments. They all act nice enough, but I'm steadily becoming bored and nervous again, the excitement of seeing Effie wearing off some. She's a slightly toned-down version of her crazy self, but I still find myself enjoying her company. Peeta is more successful at conversing with the people than I am, and I squeeze his had in thanks after every new person. It's the only gesture of affection I want to display to everyone (even though it's not much of a display.) I have a feeling he understands.

I find my eyes searching for a tall, dark figure when they catch a familiar-looking face across the room from us. Despite the fact that I'm supposedly preoccupied with someone else (and that I undoubtedly will get an earful from Effie for being so rude), my feet carry me to a young woman not too many years older than myself. She is sitting in a chair against a far wall, cuddling a small child in her arms.

"Annie!" I call out to her as soon as I'm within earshot of her.

Her green eyes lift in confusion before they catch mine, and they light up at once as soon as she recognizes me. "Katniss," she says, standing at once.

My gaze moves from her face to that of the little boy's in her arms. He has to be almost one, and might be the most precious, beautiful thing I've ever seen. He's a carbon copy of Finnick O'dair, the only exception being that he has inherited his mother's dark brown hair. The rest of him, even in baby form, all belongs to his father, from his sea-green eyes, straight nose, and incredible (albeit gummy) smile. It has to be a bittersweet blessing, to have him but not _have him_. I feel my eyes begin to water at the realization of what she's been left with, and it's so sad and so wonderful, I'm not sure which to feel for her. "Oh, Annie, he's beautiful," I breathe, moving my gaze back to hers.

"Thank you," Annie murmurs back, smoothing the baby's hair gently over his head in a truly motherly gesture. "His name is Finnick. With a face like that, the name had to match. We call him Finn."

I smile and agree. Nothing would be more fitting. "Hi, little Finn," I say quietly. I don't think I've had such a close encounter with a baby in my life, and I'm at a complete loss. I reach my hand out and rub his tiny little hand with my fingers, and he grins widely at me.

"How are you doing?" I ask Annie, genuinely concerned. To say that what she's been through can't have been easy is probably the understatement of the year. Despite this, the madness in her eyes has lessened and, well, she's not rocking in a corner anymore.

The woman hesitates slightly. "As well as I can. Johanna stays with me now. She likes to be around Finn and she likes the ocean, and she helps me get by. We keep each other company. It gets a little lonely, you know? But I have Finn, and I'm…better; I wouldn't be where I am now without him." She looks down at him and flushes. "I didn't want to come here; I didn't really see what importance I was, but Plutarch insisted, and I had no one to leave him with since Johanna had to come too. Maybe I'm being paranoid, but I just didn't trust anyone here to watch him, that's why I brought him here to the party with me."

I shake my head vehemently. "No, Annie, I would feel the same way," I assure her.

She offers me a gentle smile. "Would you like to hold him?"

I swallow thickly, but those green eyes of his call to me. "Sure," I gulp, and hold out my arms.

"It's okay, Katniss," Annie says quietly, clearly reading my nervousness about holding Finn. After having talked to her for several minutes, I've found that her voice has an omnipresent soothing tone to it, no matter the situation. "Just support him in your arms. It will feel natural to you."

She's right. As soon as she hands him to me, I settle him in my arms, against my chest and he looks up at me with awe, and I look right back down at him with what I'm sure is an identical expression. He makes a face and Annie gives him a pacifier before he can start to fuss, and his furrowed brow relaxes once again. His big eyes never leave mine, and I observe how long and thick his dark lashes are, just like Finnick's. I stroke his delicately soft, rosy cheek before offering him my hand. He grabs onto it and squeezes my fingers and sighs around the pacifier, still calmly watching my face.

Annie watches on with a smile. "He's in love with you, Katniss. I've never seen him so still with someone new," she says, and I tear my eyes away from Finn's to look at her in surprise. Before I can respond, Annie's eyes brighten. "Peeta!"

I turn around and see that Peeta has indeed joined me at my side once again. "Hello, Annie." He gives Annie a comforting hug, which she returns with earnest, before pulling away and wrapping his arm around my waist. He glances down at the little boy in my arms and his eyes widen. "And who's this?"

"Finn," I introduce. Finn, who had since taken his eyes off of me to observe Peeta, looks back up at me at the sound of his name, and grins. How can someone so little already be so like his father?

Peeta's smile is instantaneous, first at Annie and then at me, and finally at Finn. "Hey there, Finn," he coos, tickling his long fingers against the baby's tummy. Finn giggles adorably and squirms in my arms. We all laugh, and I offer him to Peeta, who readily accepts the baby with zero hesitation.

Finn whimpers at first, being removed from my arms, and I instantly feel a longing to have him back. But as soon as he's wrapped in Peeta's big arms, he's entranced by the funny faces and tickling fingers and deep, soothing voice. I feel something completely unexpected, some strange emotion, tug at my heart as I watch Peeta interact with Finn. Babies are still the last thing on my mind, but there must be an ingrained quality in every female (even cold, broken ones like me) to simply melt at the sight of a man doting on children with ease and affection. I suddenly wonder if Finn has any steady male presence in his life, and simultaneously note that Peeta would be the most perfect father.

I'm not even going to let myself go there.

I glance at Annie, but she seems to have similar thoughts on her mind, if the look of utter longing as she watches Peeta with Finn is any indication. I grasp her hand and she tears her gaze away from the pair, and I see unshed tears in her eyes. The only thing I can think to do is hug her, and she buries her face in my shoulder. I never feel the tears hit my skin; she's stronger than anyone in this room. "Finnick would have been an amazing father, Annie," I say, and she nods before pulling back. "He loved you more than anything, and I know without a doubt that he would feel the same about Finn."

Annie takes a deep, shuddering breath. "I know. I just miss him so much. I wish he could have met him," she admits sadly.

Peeta holds the baby in one arm and strokes Annie's arm with his free hand. "He's with you every day, Annie. He may have left physically, but he's always watching over you, over Finn; he'll always be in your heart." I look at him and see that Finn is asleep in his arms, the excitement of the day apparently taking its toll. Peeta smiles down at him affectionately, and brushes the dark strands of his hair gently. "And when he's old enough, Finn will realize that he has the most kind, amazing, brave father a boy could ever ask for. That's more than a lot can say of their living ones."

Annie smiles at him gratefully, and I'm once again stunned by his ability to say exactly what needs to be said. He hands Finn back to his mother carefully and takes my hand in his. "Thank you," she whispers, snuggling her sleeping baby close to her. "Please come and visit soon. It would mean so much."

We nod, but I instantly remember that my mother lives in Four as well. I ignore that thought, berating myself for being so selfish. "Of course, Annie. And you always have a place in Twelve. Both of you."

We give her one last careful hug so as not to wake Finn, before she says she better get him up to bed. We bid her goodbye, and are about to take a seat when someone taps me on the shoulder.

I turn around and gasp, gripping Peeta's hand so hard I feel I might break the bones. Staring at me with matching gray eyes is none other than the one person I was looking to avoid all night: Gale.

…

This one got way out of hand with the length, but I hope you like it anyways. Please review, if you want me to continue. It also hasn't been edited that well in my haste to get it posted, so I apologize for any mistakes. Thanks!

…

**A/N**:


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N**: Thanks so much for the feedback! You're all awesome. Here is the surprisingly much-anticipated Gale scene, plus some.

…

"Gale."

My voice reveals my shock and fear in a sharp, breathless whisper, and as quickly as our eyes met, I avert mine now, concentrating on the elaborate pattern of the carpet. I'm not sure why I'm so surprised to see him, since I had known well before now that he would be here. The suddenness of it, I decide, is what's left me quivering in my stilettos as a myriad of conflicting emotions washes over me. I still grip Peeta's hand as if it's my lifeline, tethering me to the reality of the situation and where we are.

Peeta is squeezing back just as hard, though for my sake or his, I'm not sure. He hasn't said much outside of that one afternoon about his feelings on Gale's reappearance. I glance at his face and his brow is furrowed, as though he's displeased by the man before us, and his strong jaw is clenched tightly. He looks agitated and guarded, two emotions not typically associated with Peeta Mellark.

They fit Gale Hawthorne flawlessly, however, and without a second thought I bring my eyes to his once again. Deep steel-grey pools meet mine, but they're practically unreadable, so I take in the rest of him quickly. He's as handsome as ever, maybe even more so now that he's properly fed and bathed on a regular basis, in addition to his tailored charcoal suit and purposely-mussed dark hair. I'd go so far as to say he looks downright sexy.

But like all the years behind us, the realization has no effect on me. I'm on the arm of the most beautiful, sexy man in the world, and nothing will change that in my mind.

I watch him shift uncomfortably on the spot, tugging at his navy tie and scratching his head right behind his ear. It's an endearing old nervous habit of his, and it almost makes me smile, but I can't bring myself to do it. Silence passes on for what feels like eons, but I can't speak; I don't know _what_ to speak. I miss you? I hate you? I forgive you?

I have forgiven him, I remind myself. I feel all of these things. I guess then, more accurately, I don't know how to start to say them.

Gale saves me the mental configuring by finally speaking up. "Katniss, I – I'd like to talk to you. Maybe over there?" He nods to a secluded corner where I spot a door that leads to what I'm assuming is a storage closet, and shoves his hands in his pockets nervously. I've rarely seen nervous Gale, and it's a little disconcerting. What does _he_ want to say to _me_?

"I…" my voice trails off, and I look up at Peeta for something, anything, in his expression that might persuade me one way or another. He gazes back at me, his eyes loving but hard, until finally he leans in to kiss me squarely on the lips. I give a tiny gasp of surprise, which he swallows eagerly as his lips mesh with mine, but soon I catch up.

Peeta pulls back a second later and moves his mouth to my ear. "I'll be with Effie. If you need me…" he leaves his sentence open-ended and I nod in understanding, releasing his hand from my death grip so we can go our separate ways.

It kills me to see him walking away; it's the last thing we said we'd do on this trip – together, not apart. But this is _my_ ruined friendship, not ours, and I need to handle this alone.

I turn back to Gale, who is looking down at his shoes and carefully tracing a golden loop on the carpet with his toe.

I take a deep breath and exhale slowly, my anxiety at an all-time high. "Gale."

His head snaps up at once, and upon noticing that I'm alone, gestures in the direction of the corner once again. He leads the way, and once we're there checks around to make sure no one's looking before motioning me inside. He slips in discreetly after me, and we stand there for a minute, staring at each other. I'm still at a loss of where to begin when Gale finally sighs heavily and speaks.

"I'm sorry, Katniss," he murmurs, his voice gentle and gruff. Now that we're alone, I see the sadness in his eyes, the guilt. "I'm so sorry."

My eyes duck and I cross my arms over my stomach, shaking my head; I'm not entirely sure what that was supposed to convey. Words never have been our strong point, and it seems like that hasn't changed a bit. I feel a solid lump form in my throat, all the words catching there and jumbling up like water in a dam: rising, but never overflowing.

"Look at me, Katniss, please," he says. I don't want to. Seeing his face right in front of me makes this more real than I want it to be, yet I still…_want_ it to be real. Need it to be.

It's all very confusing. And painful. So painful.

His beg rings in my ears, though, and like the flickers of Prim's face and his look of utter grief that are suddenly invading my brain, it goes straight to my heart, so after a few moments I comply. A look of relief flashes across his features before they return to being somber.

I watch Gale chew the inside of his lip and wait for him to continue. He obviously has more to say, but is having an equally hard time as me getting the words out of his mouth. Our eyes bore into each other's for several moments, and he releases his lip to talk again. "I know you hate me Katniss. I would hate me too, if I were you. Hell, I _do_ hate myself, each and every day."

"Don't," I whimper. I hate how pathetic my voice sounds, but I feel weak from this already. I clear my throat and try to sound normal. "Don't say that. I…I don't hate you." _Right?_

Gale lets out a short breath. "You don't have to spare my feelings. I don't want you to do that. I can handle the truth."

"If I truly hated you, Gale, I'd make no short order of letting you know. I don't think either of us has changed enough to deny that," I assure him, my voice finally gaining some edge of normalcy.

A sad, tiny smile crosses his full lips, and he ducks his head quickly for a moment. "No, you're right. I shouldn't have…assumed."

We're silent for a few moments and avoid one another's gaze. Suddenly, the words come to me, effectively spilling over that dam. I take a deep breath and hope I don't practically lose it here at this party, with all those people not that far outside this little enclosed space. "The truth, Gale?"

His eyes meet mine again, and he nods without hesitation. "Please," is all he says.

"The truth…" I bite my lip and close my eyes as I try to gather my strength, and then open them before speaking. "The truth is that I want to hate you with everything I have. I want to hate you for making Peeta feel like I only chose him because you fucked up. I want to hate you for being so irrational and headstrong. I want to hate you for the fact that I literally became my mother when I didn't get out of bed for months because I was so depressed." I squeeze my eyes shut to ward off the tears, because despite everything good in my life right now, I'm not okay. And Gale is just intensifying that fact. "I loved her more than anything in this world; more than you, more than Peeta, more than my mom. And she's gone," I whisper. "She's gone because of something you might have done, because you wanted _them_ to pay, and it's just not _fair_! She had so much more life, Gale, she was going to be a doctor. She was going to make something of herself. She was going to help people."

I try to steady my breathing, which has become heavy and uneven in the course of my rant. "But the truth is," I open my eyes and am almost shocked into silence to see a single tear track down his cheek, "I don't hate you. I can't hate you. I'm angry at you; furious, really. And I realized that right now I don't… love you anymore." I check his face to see how he's taking all this, and my last words seem to have done it. More tears stream silently down his perfectly structured cheekbones, and in a moment of pure bravery I reach one of my trembling hands to grasp one of his. It feels familiar, weathered and strong. "But I miss you. Especially in the woods. You haunt me there." I swallow hard. "And maybe I do hate you for that."

I don't need to elaborate. The woods hold a special place in both our hearts, where we remember our fathers best. But now, for me, it's tainted by not only the loss of my father, but my best friend. Gale gets that.

I see another tear roll down his cheek, and I wipe it away hastily with my free hand. I don't like to see him cry; to me it's like seeing something bizarre and unnatural. Gale Hawthorne does not cry. But he's been too strong for too long, and it seems everything has caught up to him.

Gale takes a deep, shuddering breath and exhales just as shakily, wiping furiously at his tears. He squeezes my hand, and our watery eyes meet. We're standing closer to one another than we have throughout this entire conversation, and he looks down at me as he takes his turn to talk. "I loved her like she was my own sister, Katniss," he mutters hoarsely, and I finally feel my resolve slip at his words, tears of my own leaking out of my eyes. I knew he loved Prim; I used to tease him that he always treated her as he would an older Posy. But hearing it directly from his mouth makes it all the more real at what he's possibly done. It's Gale's turn to wipe my tears as he continues, his voice somehow steady, but audibly pained. "At the time when we last saw each other in the Capitol I was cocky and stupid and I didn't want to acknowledge that it really could be my fault that she's…gone. I was in denial about what exactly had happened, and I just didn't want to admit that I would never see her again. And these past few months in Two I've tortured myself every day, wondering if it was me. I can't sleep. I have nightmares about it all, that I _murder_ her, that she hates me too even now."

I gasp at the image, but I shake my head. "She would never hate you either, Gale. She was so good, and…well, loved you like an older brother."

Gale offers a watery grimace, like he's trying to smile but can't quite manage it. "Prim," he whispers, and squeezes my hand in our old gesture of comfort. I fight the hitch in my breath at the sound of her name, and Gale looks up at me apologetically. However, as we stand there his demeanor slowly changes into one of confliction, and I have to wonder what's coming next. When Gale doesn't want to be read, he isn't. Finally, he blurts, "Katniss, I've asked the Secretary of Defense if he could find whose bombs they were."

My mouth drops open of its own accord. I don't know what to say. "Can he?" I ask. If he can, this could mean so many things. And not all of them good.

Gale nods. "I told him I didn't want to know yet. Only if you want to know, too."

I think about it for a moment. The idea that Gale's name might be cleared from the guilty column in my brain would have so many positive reflections on both of our lives. But if it turns out that they were his… I don't know if I could live with that. For the past year I've struggled with the 'maybe, maybe not' scenario, and when it comes down to it, I'd rather not know, than know for certain that my former best friend unintentionally killed my sister.

I sigh and wipe a few stray tears from my face. "Gale, I've come to forgive you for what may or may not have happened. And this is so selfish of me, but I can't. Every day I don't know is beyond difficult, but I wouldn't be able to deal with knowing that you killed Prim, however inadvertent."

Gale looks at me with wide eyes. "You…you forgive me?"

"Forgiving isn't forgetting," I remind him quietly. "I've already come to terms with the fact that I'll never forget. I think you should too."

He looks shocked, but nods solemnly. "Your forgiveness is more than I could ever ask for, Catnip."

It takes him only a second to realize what he's said, and immediately starts backtracking. "Katniss, I – I didn't mean to. I shouldn't call you that anymore."

I put a finger over his lips to silence him. The old nickname resonates within me and makes me feel warm and nostalgic. "Gale, I still care about you. And I don't mind that you called me Catnip. In fact…please do."

Gale looks surprised, but ultimately gives his first genuine grin of the night. "In that case, I miss you too, Catnip." He squeezes my hand.

I look down at our clasped fingers, at our matching skin, and wonder not for the first time what it would be like had he not done what he did. In the same beat I realize I miss the contrast of Peeta's paler skin against my dark tan, and with one last squeeze I drop Gale's hand from mine.

"I'll write you," he says, smiling again. "And you can write back telling me all about Peeta."

I blush and fidget with my dress. "Shut up," I mutter. "I know you don't care."

Gale raises an eyebrow. "On the contrary. He obviously makes you happy. And I want you to be happy more than anything." I nod slowly, still a little surprised that he has accepted my genuine relationship with Peeta so easily. "Though I could do without you kissing right in front of me," he adds, only half-joking.

My cheeks turn even redder and I groan, chewing my lip thoughtfully. "When he found out you would be here, he told me he was afraid that I would choose you over him, like when we came back from the games. I told him that would never in a million years happen, but he was still…unsure. I think he was just staking his claim, or something." I watch his expression, and if I'm reading him correctly, Gale looks a little hurt. "What?"

Gale shakes his head and smiles at me ruefully. "No matter what you may ever feel for me, Katniss, I'll never stop loving you – never stop loving you as my friend, and right now I _can't_ stop loving you as something more. But I would never purposefully try to separate the two of you, especially not for my own wants. I know you've loved him for a while, and everyone knows he's loved you for even longer. Earning your love isn't easy, Catnip, and I'd at least never deprive him of that."

He's joking, but there's a truth to his words, and he still looks a little upset behind his smile. I don't really know what to make of the fact that he has just admitted a lasting romantic interest in me. it doesn't make my heart stop (in a good way, anyways, like it had with Peeta), but it's more of a lurching sensation that signifies guilt. I feel angry with myself for feeling like I _should_ be guilty. Gale made his choices, and I most definitely have made mine. There's nothing I can do about that.

This is, however, the boy who has been my tether to survival and companionship for the better part of my life, and I the same to him, and seeing him so different: accepting, worn-down, sad – completely un-Gale traits – leaves me with the nagging need to comfort him somehow. He's as tied to my heart as Peeta is, whether I like it or not.

I can at least console myself with the fact that mine and Gale's levels of attraction to one another don't match. So, looking to brighten him up a bit before we leave, I push his shoulder gently, though it really does nothing because he's so solid. "You know, you're a pretty good friend when you're not being cocky and stupid," I tell him quietly, offering him a small, sincere grin.

Gale chuckles and sighs. "I'll try to remember that." He looks down at me for a moment and the next thing I know he's drawing me into a hug, his arms wrapping around my shoulders comfortingly. I rest my head on his shoulder and breathe him in. He smells like cedar and spice and man, and it's not what I'm used to smelling on him, but it's not bad at all.

I still prefer the scent of bread, though.

He squeezes me once and says, "You look beautiful tonight, Catnip," before releasing me and holding me at arm's length. "And I was serious about writing."

I nod and find a reflective surface to check my makeup, and we share our last couple of moments before inching open the door, unsure of what we'll find. I have no clue how long we've been in here, but it's as if no time at all has passed in the party scene. It's no surprise when no one notices us slipping back into the crowd as if we've been there the whole time.

Our eyes linger once more before we go our separate ways, silently bidding each other one last goodbye until we eventually meet again. Our goodbyes never needed many words, even on that reaping day that now felt like ages ago; we said what needed to be said, and that was enough. Tonight is no different.

I watch Gale take a flute of champagne before looking around to find Peeta. I spot his blond head easily, and hurriedly make my way to his side whilst snatching my own glass, feeling I may need it. Peeta is participating in a conversation with an older man, but I can tell he's just going through the motions; he seems anxious, and keeps glancing discreetly at the gleaming silver watch on his left wrist as he chats up the guy, who's clinging to his every word.

Right now I want nothing more than to ditch this place. Despite leaving Gale on good terms, the whole day is catching up to me, and I'm both physically and emotionally exhausted. I fight my way through the crowd and sidle up next to Peeta, grasping his elbow gently.

He looks down at the touch and his eyes light up immediately. "Katniss!" he exclaims, completely ignoring the man now. He sounds relieved and worried at the same time, but gathers me in his arms all the same for a brief embrace. I kiss his cheek and take his hand, and smile at the man he was talking to moments ago only out of politeness. I try to keep my expression normal as I observe him bouncing giddily on the spot; why he's so jumpy, I don't know. Peeta notes where I'm looking and flashes his most charming smile. "Oh yes, Katniss, this is Mr. Blayton Castor. He's one of the architects from Three that Plutarch was telling us about who are redesigning some of the Capitol buildings."

I smile again and shake his proffered hand, which is slightly damp and…gross. He's shorter than me and has a really unfortunate hairline that is receding more on the sides than it is on top, and large but thin wire-framed glasses. "Katniss Everdeen! I am just so excited to meet you and Peeta both! Your heroic acts in the revolution were just fantastic, so inspiring! I was just telling Peeta here that –"

That's when I officially tune him out; his hyperactive demeanor is giving me a headache, and as I stand there clinging to Peeta I just hope my randomly inserted nods and "mmhm's" will appease Mr. Castor.

I place my other hand on top of Peeta's and use the movement as an excuse to look down at his watch. It's nearly eleven; we've been here for nearly three hours. In my mind, that is more than a sufficient amount of time, especially since this is only the first of several more appearances.

I jump at the first break in the conversation (or really when Mr. Castor finally stops talking) to somehow let Peeta know that I want to get the hell out of here. I clear my throat and tap the face of his watch with my fingernail. Somehow Peeta reads this, and offers the man a very convincing apologetic look.

"Well, Mr. Castor, it's been lovely meeting you. I'm afraid we're both rather tired, though. We've had a very long trip from Twelve today, and then all the excitement from the party."

Mr. Castor looks visibly crestfallen, and I want to roll my eyes. The man really has no self-awareness, but his mooching of our attention is so obvious and he is so oblivious to it that I almost feel sorry for him.

Almost. I'm tired, cranky, and feel the faintest buzz in the back of my brain. The word 'lightweight' comes to mind, something that Haymitch had once described me as. Apparently it means I can't hold my alcohol. _Fuck Haymitch_, I growl in my mind, and I know I must be scowling.

I'm really tired.

"Oh yes, yes of course Peeta. It's been wonderful to get to speak with you and the beautiful Katniss." Without warning he picks up my hand that's resting on top of my and Peeta's held ones, and brings it to his lips.

I'm too tired for this. Too tired. I abandon all pretenses of politeness and make to snatch my hand out of his in anger and incredulity. I don't even have time to do that, however, before Peeta is tugging my arm away from Mr. Castor; he knows me too well, knew that that situation was an outright scene waiting to happen. "Thank you again Mr. Castor for the company," he calls over his shoulder, and leads us to the doors. I think Mr. Castor started to say something back, but by the time I bothered to listen to what he could possibly have to say as we were walking the opposite direction from him, we were out of earshot.

"He was annoying," I gripe, crossing my arms over my chest and scowling when we are standing in front of the elevators. I know I must look very petulant, but I don't care. Tired, buzzed, _angry_ Katniss does not care.

Peeta chuckles and presses the button to signal the elevators. "A bit. He really was a nice man, and very smart. He was just a little…"

"Insane?" I offer, rolling my eyes.

"I was going to say enthused," Peeta corrects as soon as the elevator _dings_ lightly, and I hurry into the compartment before one more person can stop me from getting out of these stupid heels and into my pajamas and a bed.

We're silent as the elevator travels upward, and it's not until floor seven does Peeta finally speak up. "So…Gale?"

I deflate slightly. Somewhere between my utter exhaustion and dealing with Blayton Castor I had forgotten Peeta would want to know what we had talked about.

I'm not sure that I'm up for relaying the whole conversation to him tonight, but Peeta more than deserves to know at least the general gist of it now. Hopefully it will calm his nerves some if he knows at least a little bit, for now at least. I sigh and lean into his arm to rest my head on his shoulder. "Let's get to our room first, and in bed. I can only concentrate on how my feet feel like they're about to fall off."

Peeta nods and kisses my forehead, resting his head on top of mine until the doors open on our floor. Peeta fetches his suitcase from his room and moves it into mine, and we dress for bed in relative silence, taking turns brushing our teeth and I do my best to scrub all the makeup off. I throw on one of Peeta's flannel sleep shirts and a pair of his boxers before climbing into bed with him, glad to find that his regular attire of just boxers hasn't changed.

I peck his shoulder and move to rest my head on his chest, but Peeta cups my face and brings our lips together for a slow, sweet kiss. There's no heat behind it, but that isn't surprising, seeing as we've had an extremely tiring day.

Peeta breaks away slowly and pulls away from my face as much as he can, looking down at me with big, sleepy blue eyes. He rolls on his side so we're facing each other and props his head up with his elbow on his pillow. "Now, please, tell me what happened. It's killing me not knowing."

I give him a little half smile, trying to ease his worries some, and stroke my hand through his curls, which are stiff from whatever gel they used to keep them in place. I pick through my brain for the simplest, but most informative, pieces of the conversation to tell him. "It went better than I thought it would," I murmur. Now that we're dressed in comfortable clothes, swathed in the dark and cuddling in each other's warmth, it's getting even harder to keep my eyes open. "Basically I told him I neither loved nor hated him, but that I'd forgiven him. He was surprised but pleased, I guess, and said he only wanted me to be happy. And he recognized that _you_ are what makes me happy." Peeta smiles, his exhaustion making it crooked and adorable. "Will that tide you over until tomorrow? I can't stay awake anymore."

Peeta sighs and nods, wrapping his arm around my waist, and I nuzzle my nose in his throat to inhale his warm scent. "G'night, Katniss," he mumbles, already half asleep.

I kiss the skin of his throat in response, and within seconds we are both fast asleep, tomorrow's prospects of a Capitol dinner and mentioning that tiny fact to Peeta that Gale still loves me all but forgotten.

…

**A/N**: Super long A/N here, but anyways. I know the majority likes the really long chapters, and I really tried to make this one as long as the last couple have been, but I just couldn't think of anything else to put in here that I don't want in the next chapter. I sincerely hope the Gale conversation was something of what you hoped/expected, and that if it wasn't you were okay with it. I debated long and hard about how to handle it, and in the end this is what I came up with. I actually like Gale's character in the books, I think he's just misunderstood, kind of like Bender in The Breakfast Club (basically no dad, angry at the world, dark, mysterious, you get it.) Also I just threw in Castor as a random person from my brain because it's break and Netflix is my frenemy right now and I have wasted the last two weeks of my life away watching continuous seasons of random shows. But for him I basically I combined Ted Mosby/Buster Bluth/Sheldon Cooper. Can you tell I've had no life for a while? On that note, I'll do my absolute best to update before classes start again on Monday, but I do have to go back to work and have packing to do, so no absolutes. I hope you all had a great Christmas/New Years! Review if you have time:)


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